


The Vampire Covens

by Frumpologist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Mutual Pining, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), POV Multiple, Post-War, Romance, Sass, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Suspense and Thrills and Snark, Vampire Covens, Vampire Draco Malfoy, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21552598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: **ON HIATUS**Hermione Granger is the proud co-leader of the new Order of the Phoenix. She and Harry hunt the collateral damage left behind by vampires. Everything is going according to plan until Draco Malfoy crashes into the wards of their Headquarters, covered in blood and carrying Harry’s bleeding, bitten cousin in tow. Inspired by a longing for equality, and driven by the memory of those who perished in the First Wizarding War, Hermione sacrifices everything to spy on the growing vampire covens. She will stop at nothing to finally bring peace to the Wizarding World.
Relationships: Dudley Dursley/Tracey Davis, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Charlie Weasley, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Comments: 366
Kudos: 224





	1. This Is War

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my new WIP! This story has been in the pipeline for quite a while, and has been given a shove ahead of other works because my muse demands to be heard. This story is entirely plotted and a quarter of the way written. I anticipate it to land around 20 chapters. For anyone reading Fixed Point and wondering when it will update, I promise you that chapters are on the way in the new year - just very slowly as I try to work through some plot details (because time travel, amiright?) but definitely not abandoned (my alpha would murder me :D)
> 
> Much love to **mcal** for her invaluable alpha work, her shoulder to cry on, and her encouragement as I droned on and on about this story. She's a legend, and I love her so much. And, a special shout out to **MrsRen** for giving me her coveted seal of approval on Draco - you're a star!

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

_I do believe in the light, raise your hands up to the sky_  
_The fight is done, the war is won, lift your hands towards the sun_  
_It's the moment of truth and the moment to lie_  
_It's the moment to live and the moment to die_  
**_This Is War, 30 Seconds to Mars_ **

  
  
  
  


Moving through the darkness was easy. He had reflexes like a kneazle, swift and silky, as he ducked amongst the trees that lined the grounds of an old castle. It stood like a fortress against the inky sky. The only light source was the waxing moon, lighting the parapets like dusky blue shadows. Two guards sat at either side of its only visible entrance, but they would be no problem. He could slink by them quite easily with a well-placed stunning spell.

He wondered why anyone who wanted to live in secret in England would choose such a stand-out home. Three stories, at least, gothic, and very nearly condemned; he had to assume that somehow they’d gotten their hands on a powerful confundus charm. The quaint village down the road wasn’t as over-run as the castle appeared to be. Curious, as far as he was concerned, though his sire didn’t seem to think so.

After years of strange occurrences happening around him in his youth, it was no surprise that Draco was first: skeptical, and then: distrusting. He never wanted to get sucked back into the fold of something that felt so counterintuitive again. No more Dark Lords, no more wars.

Simply, he wanted to exist separate from such tribulations, and yet, here he was. A castle, its guards, and the pulse of energy that wasn’t quite magic but the mysticism certainly wasn’t human.

Vampires. Congregating together as a coven. Whispers of their expansion carried only by the nighttime breeze and careful to avoid the wrong ears. Evidently, his employer wasn’t the wrong sort, even though the whispers carried with them warnings for vampires born of magical signatures:

 _We’re coming for you_.

If he’d known — fuck. If he could take it all back, he would.

Immortality was only good for one thing, and it wasn’t enough for him.

He was estranged now. From his family, his friends — _her_.

And so, as he hunted through the night, scouting the looming castle and its inhabitants, the twinge of retribution settled in his bones.

Sanguini could stuff it, for all he cared. This new vampire — a muggle, of all things — didn’t matter to him. His employer was hell bent on spying on her operation, but Draco? He couldn’t care less about it. Magical vampires, muggle vampires. They were all the same at the end of the day. And because of them, because of _him_ , Draco would never enjoy his former glories again.

The taste of firewhisky as it burned his tongue and slid down his throat. The savory bite of a roast dinner. The way _she_ felt wrapped around his hips. The way he felt with her lips wrapped around his — 

“Show yourself.”

Burly, raspy, and most definitely furious, a voice called out to him. Though he was hidden behind the large trunk of a rotting tree, Draco could blame the whipping wind and his shock of blond hair for giving away his location.

He decided that surrender was smarter than deception, and so he moved around the tree and held his hands up. The guard who had spotted him growled and advanced, something small and shiny held between his hands. It didn’t look as threatening as a wand, but then Draco had known the weapons that muggles carried were primitive in comparison. And, most definitely deadly.

“Who’re you?” The man hissed as they met halfway between the forest edge and the castle. “What’d you want?”

Draco spoke softly, carefully, and kept his eyes glued to the man’s hands as they shook around his weapon. “My name is Draco Malfoy, and I’m here to meet the owner of this place.”

“She doesn’t take kindly to unannounced visitors,” he fired back gruffly. “The Madam is busy now with other, more important guests. You should leave.”

Draco lowered his hands slowly and turned without another word. He could feel the man’s eyes on his back, watching as he retreated. Poor bloke just didn’t see it coming when Draco slid his hand into his pocket and withdrew his wand. Two quick swishes and he was flat on his back with his weapon just out of reach.

Too easy, and yet he hadn’t expected anything else. Not because the man was a muggle. No, it was because he let his emotions guide him; the anger that Draco would dare try to cross into the land, versus Draco’s calm approach. It was no contest: apathy always won. It’s what drove all of his decisions since he turned.

Since leaving everything behind.

Since leaving her.

The castle guard left standing hadn’t looked in his direction yet. He still had a chance, and Draco took it. He moved like fluid toward the castle with his wand clenched between his fingers and his cloak billowing about his frame.

The second guard went down without a fight. Silent until his body thudded against the ground.

Draco wasn’t going to stop for anything, not until he saw a stocky figure emerge from behind the tall gate that led into the castle. It bumbled forward with a hand clutched around its neck. Its gasping breath dotted the stillness of the night and drove Draco forward.

He’d just made it to the man when he collapsed at Draco’s feet.

“Harry Potter,” the man said, breathless and losing consciousness as Draco crouched down, straining to hear. “I need Harry Potter.”

* * *

Peace was impossible.

After years of arguing the exact opposite, Hermione Granger sat at the War Room table with her disheartened eyes glaring at a map of the United Kingdom. This map was far different to any other map of the UK, however. For instance, where Muggle London was perched in a sea of lines depicting the underground on most maps she’d ever looked at, on _this_ map, Magical London hovered like a hologram over it.

Shady figures moved through the translucent blue magic; every once in while she’d catch the whites of their eyes or the flash of their magic. Only rarely would she see the witch or wizard belonging to the magical signature. And those — well, _those_ times were never what she wished for.

Those rare moments had grown more frequent lately, though. That’s precisely why Gawain Robards stood over the map, his thin lips twisted in a staggering grimace, with his finger pointing toward one particular magical signature that stood out in translucent red.

“This,” he said as he dragged his finger along with the figure's movement toward the underground, “isn’t typical vampire behavior. They’re up to something tonight; my informant hasn’t checked in.”

Hermione sagged into the chair opposite Robards and glanced up to her best friend through thick eyelashes and tired eyes. He wore the same expression as she did; a frown, furrowed eyebrows, and light purple bruising under each of his eyes. They exchanged no words about what they were thinking — that they’d known something like this was bound to happen, and _soon_ — but still, Harry’s thoughts were clear to her:

It was starting.

The fragile peace that had settled over Britain in the wake of Voldemort’s death was ripped away, and in its place, a new sort of war had taken over.

“It’s not the first time we’ve had vampires in London,” Harry said as his arms crossed over his chest. “There’s a black market in Knockturn for blood, because the Ministry has failed to shut it down.”

“We’ve failed nothing, Potter,” Robards argued in that gruff, authoritative voice she hated so much. “If we don’t give them a reason to come near us, the sneaky buggers won’t come near us.”

Harry snorted, his hand flying to the chaotic raven locks on his forehead and he shoved them back. “We have detailed reports of their covens. We don’t need them to come near us.”

“Bloody Gryffindor heart, you have.” But it wasn’t said as a compliment, and Hermione’s eyebrows snapped up in response. Robards flicked his wand and the red figure grew bigger, more detailed. “Sanguini has so many protections on his coven that even our resident Cursebreaker can’t get in. But, Potter, if you fancy yourself that powerful, by all means.”

He waved his wand again, and Sanguini’s coven appeared further north of London; even north of Hogwarts, and nestled in the Scottish hills off the coast. Hermione had seen it before on the map, nothing new stood out. Except — 

“Are those all vampires?” Hermione asked as she shoved herself from the chair and leaned forward to view Sanguini’s home. The number of red flares of light was unbelievable. Robards grunted in reply. “But that’s impossible. It was nearly empty last month when all this started.”

“Sanguini has always stayed to himself,” Robards agreed with a stiff nod. “My informant tells me that he’s been rather impulsive as of late. It’s resulted in several wizards in the highlands finding themselves turned.”

“Just wizards?” Hermione glanced from the map to Harry, the wheels of her mind turning endlessly. “But that doesn’t make any sense. Vampires have never singled out magical signatures before.”

“Dracula was a muggle,” Harry pointed out, obviously proud of himself since the grin on his face spread impossibly across his cheeks. Hermione snorted. “Got that from a book.”

“What book?” Hermione’s hands moved to her hips, as was her habit. And Harry mimicked the movement, down to the very pointed, raised eyebrows.

“Dracula,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“In no place does Bram Stoker say that Dracula is a muggle.” Why her best friend was the most ridiculous person the planet, she didn’t know, but honestly, how were they supposed to run the new generation of The Order of the Phoenix when he used works of fiction as a basis for information? “Harry, this is serious.”

“Granger is right.” Robards moved his wand over the map again and all the magical signatures sank into the paper. “We don’t need more myths. My informant can help us here. I’ll send another owl, and we’ll reconvene next week.”

“We’ve worked together for two years, Gawain,” Harry said, holding his hands out, palms up. “I know we’re not your favorite people, all things considered, but we’ve done some pretty good things. Can’t you tell us who your informant is? Maybe we can help find them.”

“Classified, Potter. Perhaps if you wanted insider information, you’d have taken the Ministry up on their offer to become a sworn in Auror.” Robards rolled his map up and shrunk it down with his wand. He turned to leave, much as he always did at the end of the week, without another word. It wasn’t until he reached the door of the war room that he turned back to them. “There’s a storm brewing out there with these vampires. You two could do far more good with the Ministry than you can chasing this vigilante fantasy you’re playing at.”

“I’ve told you, it’s not going to happen.” Harry held up his hand showcasing the silvery scars that still shined there. _I must not tell lies_. “The Ministry hasn’t changed since Tom Riddle was vanquished, and until there’s a serious overhaul, neither will my stance on the matter.”

Hermione felt the lick of anger that she’d always kept pushed down rear its head in Harry’s defense, but she shoved it down as Robards’ eyes swept the scar. He grimaced and ducked his chin. The handful of times that Robards had tried to convert them to Aurors had always led to the same argument and the same awkward headnod. Deep down, though, Hermione knew that Gawain agreed with them; otherwise, why would he bother to help them at all?

The fact of the matter was that Harry’s name still carried an awful lot of weight. The members of the Order of the Phoenix knew it, and so did Minister Shacklebolt, who approved Gawain’s association with The Order when Harry offered a partnership. And, while Gowain Robards was a tough man with a strict adherence to the rules, he also knew that despite their young ages, the members of the Order of the Phoenix had been through hell and back for the sake of the wizarding world.

And, so, he helped where he was allowed.

“Harry,” Hermione said as she allowed her back to rest against the war room table and crossed her ankles. “We have to find out what the vampires are up to tonight. I think we have to take a trip to Knockturn.”

He took a long breath and let the silence linger around them for a moment. His hands found home inside of his pockets, and Harry leaned against one of the thick wooden chairs around the table, facing Hermione. “I’ll send a Patronus to George; maybe he can take a stroll down the Alley to see what’s happening.”

Hermione let her eyes explore his face for a moment. “Do you think that’s the best course, really? If something happens to George—”

“I know, but we can’t run off every time Gawain thinks he has a new lead on Sanguini or the vampires, or the centaurs, or the Carrows.” He ran both hands through his hair and gave the locks a frustrated shake. “And if I cancel dinner one more time—”

“Okay, okay. I’ll send a Patronus to George and ask him to keep an eye.” Hermione pulled her wand out of her pocket and pushed herself from the table. As she passed Harry, she laid a hand on his forearm and smiled. “It’s alright, you know? We have an excellent team; we’ll figure this one out, too.”

Harry ducked his chin silently, his eyes moving from hers back to the table that held Gawain’s map. She left him like that, and cast ‘Expecto Patronum’ in the hallway. 

“George, we need you to track Sanguini; he’s in Knockturn at the black market. Follow him and report back on what he’s doing. Do not engage.”

She watched the blue wisp of an otter jump around the room and finally out of the closed window. Her stomach grumbled and the obnoxious, loud noise filled the otherwise empty and quiet house.

Potter Cottage became the new headquarters to The Order of the Phoenix a short two years after the fall of Lord Voldemort. It took so long to fix the nearly irreparable damage, but Harry’s determination to get the home back to its former glory resulted in their current home and office. Hermione tried living in her own flat at first, but found that she and Harry shared one thing in common: they were raging workaholics. If there was darkness in the world, they would work restlessly to replace it with light.

The War Room was the only part of the cottage that still had damage from October 1981. There was no wall separating the outside world and the room. Instead, Hermione had magically sealed the room; it trapped light and heat, and served as a one-way window to the outside. Though the room was the darkest of the house and steeped in the burning scent of dark magic, it was Hermione’s favorite room. Some of her best charmwork was done in that room.

Otherwise, the house was in good condition for living and conducting Order meetings. Just down the hall from the war room was the large living room that she and Harry frequently used as a dining room. They had a telly, a fireplace, and too many chairs and sofas than what should have been able to fit — none of which matched one another. As she walked through said room, she smiled at the various photos that decorated the walls and tables; members of the Order of the Phoenix, old and new, stared back at her and waved as she passed them by.

The kitchen was well stocked at all times. They’d managed to be a home away from home for many of their friends. Ron shacked up with them when he was visiting or working a case that linked MACUSA with the Ministry. Little did the American government know that he was a foreign operative for The Order. And, when Neville was on holiday from his nearly-complete internship with Professor Sprout, he bunked in one of their spare bedrooms. Most others would crash for a night if they had a bad experience or if they drank too much — which, in Hermione’s opinion, wasn’t exactly official Order business despite that Harry said everyone ‘needed to let loose sometimes’.

Hermione grabbed her favorite mug from the cupboard, an oversized novelty she’d picked up at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes that had the Hogwarts crest etched into it. She turned on the kettle and waited for it the good, old fashioned muggle way. They had an array of various tea flavors and instant coffee packets. According to Harry, there was no point in stocking decaf — if anyone needed decaf, they were in the wrong line of work. She’d rolled her eyes, but ultimately Hermione chose her battles, and since she didn’t drink coffee, Harry won.

“Hey.” Harry grabbed her by the hips and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

She turned to him and swatted him on the chest. Hard. “Harry! For the love of — you can’t go around scaring me like that!”

Harry only laughed and skirted around her to grab a packet of crisps and his mug. “It doesn’t get old,” he said with that stupid Harry Potter grin that would drive her mad one day, “you jump every single time. I thought you were supposed to be the Brightest Witch of the Age?”

Her scowl must have frightened him, because he immediately dropped his smile and backed away. She advanced on him. “They don’t call me the Brightest Witch of the Age because some specky git can scare me when he sneaks up on me. Do you want to see why they call me the Brightest Witch of the Age, Potter?”

“Because your nose glows like a lightbulb when you’re angry?” Harry’s eyebrows raised over his glasses, and his face split into a lopsided smile. “But really, _Granger_ , out of the two of us, who defeated Lord Voldemort?”

She had her wand in her hand faster than a flash, and it prodded directly into Harry’s jugular with ease. Hermione canted her chin, toying with a smirk. “You have the reflexes of a sloth. Do you know how quickly I could have—”

Their playful fight ended in the beat of a breath.

Her heart clenched. Her veins felt as if they were doused in ice. Judging by Harry’s stricken reaction, he felt it too.

“The wards,” he whispered, and then immediately fled the room toward the front door with Hermione trailing behind him.

Even though they’d both said no to the Ministry when they received letters asking them to take their places in the Auror program, they had been trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts formally by Kingsley Shacklebolt himself. So, it was no shock to Hermione when she saw Harry’s wand wrapped tight in his palm as he reached for the handle of the door.

“You ready?” He didn’t look back at her, so he couldn’t see the way she nodded. Still, he flung the door open.

Of all the things she’d expected to see — vampires, death eaters, that one centaur that threatened to murder her — Hermione never would have guessed the sight that greeted her when her eyes dropped to the ground at their feet.

Draco Malfoy kneeled on their doorstep. He peered up at them through his disheveled hair, his face twisted into a sneer. He was covered in blood; it soaked through his button-up white shirt, copper splotched pieces of his hair, his skin was stained with it. He held something — someone — in his arms, face down.

At her side, Harry’s magic crackled and buzzed around him.

Hermione was struck with too many thoughts at once. Thankfully, Harry broke the silence with a furious question. “Is that my cousin?” Harry lowered his wand and squatted close to the ground so that he could get a better look at the person in Draco’s arms. “What the hell did you do to him, Malfoy?”

Draco looked up at them, his eyes drifting from Harry to Hermione who was glued to the spot by surprise to see him there. His eyes flashed like quicksilver. Her heart thudded in her chest when his canines snapped out of his gums, sharp and dangerous.

“Are you going to invite me in or not?”


	2. Who Are We Mistaken?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I said Sunday updates, but... it's Sunday in Australia, right? :D All of my love to mcal for her encouraging alpha help, and to Lunamionny for the brilliant beta reading. Without them, this story wouldn't be half of what it is, and I adore them so much.

_Another head hangs lowly_  
_Child is slowly taken  
_ _And the violence, caused such silence  
_ _Who are we mistaken?_  
**_Zombie, The Cranberries_  
**

It was common knowledge amongst anyone who had a subscription to _The Daily Prophet_ that Draco Malfoy was no longer the superior, pureblood wizard he’d once boasted to be. In fact, he hadn’t been that wizard in quite some time. Before he was turned into a vampire, Draco had publicly made amends for his actions both before and during the war.

Not everyone had forgiven him. Hermione had certainly taken longer than most.

And yet, there he stood on their front doorstep with Harry’s bleeding cousin in his arms. Draco appeared as if he were about to faint — pale, pinched, and dirtied by blood. If his eyes weren’t so intense and caught in her own stare, Hermione would have thought he’d pass out within seconds.

“Well?” he hissed at them, causing Harry to step forward out of his trance and grab Dudley by one shoulder. Draco helped to hoist him to his feet, but paused as Harry started to drag Dudley over the threshold.

“What? Come on!” Harry tugged on Dudley as if it would help move Draco forward, but it didn’t. Instead, Draco seemed to simply bounce off an invisible force covering the entrance.

“We have to invite him in, Harry,” Hermione whispered, her voice rough due to the rawness in the back of her throat. “He can’t… he’s…”

“A vampire,” Draco spat, lips curled down. “It’s not a dirty word, Granger. I’m a vampire, and you have to invite me in or else I can’t help.”

“Right, Draco,” Harry said through gritted teeth, as he shouldered a large portion of his cousin’s weight, “you’re invited into the bloody house. Now move your arse.”

The second that they crossed the threshold into their home, Hermione snapped to her senses and swished her wand in a circle in front of her. Draco and Harry were free of his weight due to the levitation charm and Dudley began to float midair. She didn’t give them another look — couldn’t, but that was besides the point — and levitated Dudley to their makeshift infirmary.

Down the hall from the war room was the medical area, which was bigger inside than one would ever have thought from the outside. Hermione magicked the double doors open and immediately directed Dudley’s prone, bleeding body through them to the closest bed. Draco stayed outside, while Harry hovered a step behind her.

She set to work assessing him for wounds. Though his body was well-covered with a turtleneck and jeans — his clothes were intact, though bloodied — she was able to see that his general person seemed to be unharmed. Hermione breathed in slowly and pinched the bridge of her nose as she vanished Dudley’s clothes except for his boxers, and looked for anything unusual that could have been covered by his clothes. Down the length of his legs, his feet, his arms. It wasn’t until she got to his neck that the problem became quite apparent.

Fang marks.

Her feet carried her away from his bedside before she’d even decided what it was he needed. Blood Replenishing Potion, she decided once she’d got to her apothecary cabinet. Merlin, if they were too late… Hermione grabbed a vial and ran back to Dudley’s side. She swatted Harry out of the way.

“If you can’t stay out of the way, you’ll need to go and wait in the hall with Draco,” she hissed as she tipped the contents of the vial down Dudley’s throat. “It’s bad enough that you’re hovering, but he’s your family and—”

“He’s hardly family,” Harry scoffed, though he was still fidgeting with his hands as he watched Dudley swallow the potion. “I’m just worried that my aunt and uncle will have me arrested if they know Dudley’s been to see me.”

“Yes, well, let’s deal with them after we finish saving Dudley’s life.” She couldn’t stop the tetchy tone anymore than she could stop the projectile, bloody vomit that Dudley then spewed all down her front. “Eurgh!”

“What’s happening?” Harry scrambled around the bed to Dudley’s other side and helped Hermione turn him onto his side. “Hermione, what’s wrong with him?”

“You need to get out of here,” she ordered him with one finger pointed towards the door. “I can’t think with you hovering and shouting in my ear. Just… I’ll do what I can and I’ll update you as soon as he’s stable. Go and find out from Draco what you can.”

Harry stared at her for a long moment, released a huff, and stomped out of the infirmary with the door slamming behind him.

Hermione’s fingers ran over the wounds on Dudley’s neck. Two small, deep puncture marks that dribbled long lines of thick, dark blood onto the white sheets of the bed. She tried to stop the bleeding with magic, but the wounds kept reopening. There was no magical seal on the wounds as one would see with a vampire like Sanguini — a former wizard. Which left one alternative: a muggle vampire had left these marks.

“It’s a muggle...,” she whispered, a slick of relief coating her insides. If it wasn’t a magical vampire, then it meant that it hadn’t been Draco that had bitten Dudley. She shouldn’t have felt as relieved as she did, but her shoulders still sagged as the worry over one of the night’s problems evaporated.

She steeled herself with a fortifying breath and swiped her curls away from her face. “Right, Hermione. Muggle wounds, muggle solutions.” Hermione pocketed her wand, ran to the medicine cabinet and tore through various items: gauze, tape, iodine. She wasn’t a healer by any means, but she’d picked up a few tricks in her time as a student, and then later as a rogue arm of the law. She could do this. Probably.

Hermione snapped on a pair of latex gloves and got to work.

It was an hour before she finally left the infirmary. When she stepped into the small hallway, Harry and Draco were standing side by side; the former with his fingers twisting his lips in a pinched circle, and the latter watching every step she took toward Harry.

“Hermione?” Harry asked under his breath, all the fear of the evening crashing over his stubbled face and shining back at her unabashedly.

Hermione shook her head. “There’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry. He’s—”

“Fuck!” Harry turned his body to the side and his fist collided with the wall.

The sudden jolt made Hermione flinch. She rushed to Harry and placed her hands on his face — hard, grounding — and forced him to look into her eyes, even as he struggled against it.

“He’s going to be a vampire, and you’re going to have to work out how to be okay with that.” She held him for so long, their faces inches apart, that she thought her shoulders would give in under the strain.

He breathed through his nose, lifted his hands to hers and gently pried them away from his scratchy face. “He’s not going to die?”

“Not in the… traditional sense.”

Beside them, watching the entire interaction with his shoulder pressed against the wall, Draco snorted. Hermione lifted her chin and met his stare with her own. Her eyes flitted momentarily over his face; still the same Draco with his pointed features, the strong jawline that could cut glass if given the chance, and Merlin don’t even get her started on the mold of his lips that were now curled into a familiar smirk.

She shook her head, pulling herself from his allure. Harry’s hand on her shoulder brought her attention back to him, and she smiled in gratitude.

“If I have to tell Petunia and Vernon that their only begotten son is a vampire, it’s going to be a bad time.” Harry tried to smile, and she loved him for it. “So, please only tell me if you’re absolutely sure.”

Allowing herself a thick swallow, Hermione ducked her chin. “I’m positive. There’s nothing that can be done; the bleeding won’t stop and he’s chucking up everything I try to give him. I’ve made him as comfortable as I can, but…”

She drew a breath and really wished that it was only her and Harry standing in the hallway. Her eyes flicked to Draco, then back to Harry, who, somewhat frustratingly, didn’t seem to have any idea what she was thinking. Hermione closed her eyes and chewed on her bottom lip.

“What?” Harry urged her with a comforting hand upon her shoulder. His bright green eyes were so earnest, so hopeful, it made her stomach twist.

“She’s trying to tell you that he’s going to be in an incredible amount of pain,” Draco murmured, and she couldn’t have been more grateful for it. “He’s going to bleed out slowly, and then when he wakes, he’ll be so incredibly thirsty that he’ll kill anything in his path. It hurts, that — first craving.”

Hermione watched the planes of Draco’s throat constrict. A vein in the side of his neck pulsed, and he turned his face away from the pair of them and focused on the door of the infirmary. She took the opportunity to really look then, uninhibited by the loss of his stare. He wasn’t as pale as she’d thought he’d be. Sure, his complexion was lighter than before he’d been turned, but even the vampires she’d come across in the field were blanched or sallow, and he was neither of those things. His lips were stained a permanent red color, and she tried not to think about the hows and whys; of course he had to feed, but the idea made her nauseous. His body hadn’t changed either; still rock solid and lithe under the fabric of his perfectly fit suit.

“To be honest, I don’t really mind if he suffers a little,” Harry said quietly, as if he wasn’t sure he should be saying it at all.

Draco laughed outright. “Harsh, Potter.”

Harry shrugged and mussed his hair. “Right, so, where do we keep him?”

“I can help him,” Draco said, and his eyes snapped to Hermione. “It was a muggle vampire?”

She startled, and brought his face into focus. “How did you know?”

“Sanguini is more covert with his turns.” Draco managed a slight lift of his lips and a shrug of one shoulder. As if it were an afterthought, he added, “And he was wandering around outside Desdemona’s compound.”

“Desdemona?” Hermione had never heard the name before. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to know the details, but she assumed that this was another vampire with their own compound, who was clearly turning muggles into vampires.

She glanced to Harry and wondered if he’d come to the same conclusion.

Harry gestured for them to leave the hallway and led them to the kitchen. Her eyes fell on the kettle and panic washed over her; she’d left it on the entire time they were dealing with the Dudley situation. How had the house not burned to the ground? She rushed over to it and lifted it from the hob; it was cold to the touch.

“I turned it off while you were seeing to Diddykins,” Harry explained, and tapped his wand against the kettle, instantly heating it once more. “Would have been poetic that the first time I see him after all these years is also the night my house burns to the ground.”

While Hermione shot Harry a withering glance and turned to make a cup of tea, Draco chuckled and pulled out a chair to sit with them at the table. It was an Earl Grey type of evening, no sugar, and a hint of milk. The same concoction she always turned to when her nerves were lit with worry.

She sat down after a few minutes of bustling about and cupped her mug between both hands. “So, this Desdemona. A muggle vampire?”

It was surprisingly hard to look Draco in the eyes. After all these years, and everything they’d been through together, she couldn’t quite bring herself to see what his eyes might hold for her. Now that the night had settled, she was slammed by the reminder that she hadn’t seen him since just after he turned. Her heart panged.

“She just settled in Nottinghamshire.” Draco straightened his arms and rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves to the elbow, revealing long, pale and unblemished skin. “I couldn’t get past her guards, so I don’t know much about her. Sanguini wants me to get inside her grounds, but it seems she has something against vampires with a magical signature. Her guards could smell me from a mile away.”

“Is that how you found Dudley?” Harry asked, as he sat down with a steaming cup of coffee — black, with sugar, never changing. Draco gave a curt nod. “The hell was he doing all the way up in Nottingham? He’s never left Little Whinging before.”

“That’s not true,” Hermione interrupted, the tip of her finger clicking against her porcelain mug. “The Order took them north when you left, remember? Maybe he made friends.”

Harry snorted and then sipped his coffee. “Who’d want to be friends with him?” His glasses slipped down to the end of his nose and he turned his face towards the big, square window over the sink. “We’ve attributed the rise in vampire activity to Sanguini. Looks like we were wrong.”

“Misinformed,” Hermione corrected him, and she finally met Draco’s eyes for the second time that night, only to find him watching her too. “What do you know about this Desdemona? Is she old?”

“Relatively new, in terms of mortality,” Draco said without dropping his gaze. There were so many layers to his stare and she felt her throat constrict around a tight knot. “Nineteenth century, per Sanguini. Though every vampire is young to him.”

“Why isn’t Gawain interested in her?” Harry finally drew his eyes away from the window. “Seems like we had a blind spot, and it’s meant that my muggle cousin is going to be a bloodsucker—”

“Watch it, Scarhead.” Draco’s eyes snapped to Harry, and Hermione was relieved to no longer be on the receiving end of his intense gaze. She visibly sagged in her chair. “Robards owes you nothing, remember. You’re the one who decided to go vigilante from the Aurors; if you want to be privy to all the Ministry information, you made the wrong choice.”

“Hey!” Harry’s lips pinched, a notch formed between his eyebrows. “I have very good reasons not to trust the Ministry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Draco waved a hand at him. “If I have to hear about any more of your bloody scars, I’ll eat you myself.” He stood from his chair, a single, fluid movement that surprised Hermione; He’d always had a certain finesse, but the way he moved now was quicker, more elegant even. “Look, I know you’re a ‘damn the man’ type of bloke and have issues with authority, but I’m telling you now that what’s happening with the vampires is so far above your head.”

Draco paced the long length of their kitchen with his hand to his chin. He’d glance at them every few seconds, reconsider whatever he’d been about to say, and then resume his silent pacing. Harry watched, teetering on annoyance; he had so many tells, and not a very good poker face. Hermione tried to offer him a smile, but barely managed it. Draco was making her just as nervous. All of this business about a muggle vampire, and then Sanguini’s sudden increased activity in and around London had made her uneasy. Something was amiss, but she couldn’t think of what it might be.

“I’ll just go and speak to this Desdemona myself.” Harry stood up abruptly and summoned his cloak with a simple flick of his wand.

“That’s a spectacularly stupid idea.” Draco stopped pacing and rested his back against the edge of the counter. His palms rested flat on the countertop and Hermione watched the way his muscles tensed in his forearms before bringing her eyes to his. “I can help your cousin, Potter. I can get him acclimatized to the life, but you need to keep your nose out of this.”

“Like hell!”

“Harry!” Hermione sprung from the table and grabbed his arm. “Draco’s… well, he’s not _right_ , but you certainly shouldn’t go storming into a vampire coven all by yourself with no information.”

“I’ve faced worse than a muggle vampire,” he argued, flipping the collar on his cloak over his neck. “What’s one vampire and her guards? Nothing, and you know it.”

“It’s not a single vampire. Her _fortress_ is overrun by them.” Draco tutted, dragging their attention from one another to him. “Desdemona just declared war, and you’re ready to barge into her home and try to, what, decapitate her with an Expelliarmus?”

“What do you mean ‘declared war’?” The term niggled deep in Hermione’s bones, an unwelcome feeling that her entire being revolted against. She shoved away her unease, but couldn’t help turning her back on Harry in order to give Draco her full attention. Her curls bounced over her shoulder and even though she felt Harry swat them away, Hermione ignored him and focused on Draco.

“Sweet Salazar, has Robards not told you _anything_ of value?” Draco snorted as his head gave a little disbelieving shake. “Sanguini and Desdemona have been slowly accumulating more vampires.”

“Of course.” The words settled over Hermione, and her entire conversation with their Head Auror liaison suddenly made more sense. All the magical signatures, the translucent red wisps over London and the Scottish Hills. But then, why hadn’t he mentioned Desdemona? “Draco, you’ve been scouting Desdemona on Sanguini’s orders? How do you know Robards so well?”

They stared at one another for what felt like forever. Her heart thudded against her sternum, and she ran an absent hand over her throat. It was a motion that drew Draco’s attention, and the second she watched his eyes dip to where her fingers pressed into her neck, she abruptly moved her hand to her hip. His eyes darkened, and her blood pounded in her ears.

Lips raised in a smirk, Draco took obvious pleasure in catching her off guard. “I’m Gawain’s inside man with the vampires, obviously.”

“Bullshit.” Harry walked around Hermione and headed for the door with the curse dripping from between his clenched teeth.

“Harry!” Hermione chased after him, aware that Draco was following them, but ignoring him. “Harry, you can’t. It’s not safe, and it’s not smart. And I swear to Morgana herself that if you’re turned into a vampire, I _will_ stake you through the heart.”

“Hermione, I can’t just sit here while Dudley’s turning into one of them. What does he even have to do with any of this?” He spun on her, eyes wild with anger as he flicked his gaze to Draco. “Well?”

“You.” Hermione said quietly. “She knows this is how to get you involved.”

“But why does she want me involved? I’m not a muggle or a vampire. I can’t help her.” Harry’s hand moved to the doorknob and he turned it in his palm.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Hermione grabbed at his arm and held him in place. She knew he could rip himself away at any moment, but she was not letting him get through that door without a fight. “She obviously knows who you are, Harry.”

“But how does she know that?” He deadpanned, and suddenly she saw the rage behind his green eyes and the way they settled on the vampire in the room. “It wouldn’t be the first time he’s played two sides.”

“You’re famous,” Hermione reminded him with a hand placed to the center of his chest. He vibrated with anger. “She’s got to know who you are; even muggle vampires know about wizards, Harry. She knows that you’re a muggle-raised wizard; maybe she’s trying to gain your sympathy.”

“That’s a dumb way of going about it. Turning my cousin into a vampire.” Harry brought his eyes down to her, and they softened.

“Or, it’s genius because it means you’ll get involved for your family.”

Hermione refused to turn to Draco and his taunting tone. Instead, her eyes pleaded with her best friend: to take his hand off the doorknob, to think things through, to quash the impulse to do something so reckless.

“Not if said family abused me for years.” His hand twisted on the door handle, the metal catch grinding on itself.

The hand she didn’t have planted on Harry’s chest moved to the door and she pressed all her weight into it so that he couldn’t fling it open. He startled, eyes widening as she scowled up at him. “It’s a message, Harry. We have to work out how to respond to it.”

“I know how to respond. I’m going to her compound and I’m going to stab her in the heart with my wand.” He yanked on the door and Hermione doubled down to hold it closed. “Hermione,” he growled her name, but she refused to back down.

Draco, _in all his infinite wisdom_ , she thought sarcastically, laughed. “Wooden stake, Potter? Pathetic. Hasn’t Theo taught you anything about vampires?”

At the mention of Theo’s name, Harry stopped struggling against Hermione’s hold and his hand fell from the doorknob. She exhaled a long breath and allowed herself to relax. Perhaps it _was_ infinite wisdom, after all.

“Why would he?” Harry asked, tone dejected as he stepped away from the door and rested his back against the nearest chair. “It’s not like he’s a vampire.”

“No. But his best mate is.” Draco moved out of their proximity and leaned himself against the wall opposite them.

”Well, that’s probably why he didn’t tell me.” Harry’s face split into a small, lopsided smile; the one he always wore when Theo’s name came up in conversation. “Wouldn’t want me to know how to end your existence.”

“Ha ha.” Draco intoned as he rolled his eyes. “As if you could…”

As they carried on with their typical, incessant bickering, Hermione grew more and more agitated. It wasn’t helping Dudley, or their very real vampire problem that had, in one single night, grown quite impossible to solve. And their wrangling was grating on her nerves; the constant need to one-up each other with wit and insults.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, and Hermione sighed. “Would you two please knock it off! We have a real problem, and your constant squabbling is not going to solve it.”

“Well, he—” Harry started, but she silenced him with a look.

Draco didn’t help matters when he snorted in response. Hermione shot the same look she’d used on Harry at him, but Draco merely raised his eyebrows in amusement. She rolled her eyes at him. At least that feeling from earlier had disappeared, leaving exasperation with their ancient rivalry in its wake.

“We have to call an Order meeting,” Hermione said to Harry, her tone serious, whilst the two men continued to make petulant faces at one another. “We need a plan and everyone needs to be brought up to speed.”

Harry withdrew a small, golden coin from his pocket. He tapped it several times with his wand, brought it to his lips and whispered, his eyes on Draco the entire time. Hermione felt the coin in her pocket heat up, and she pulled it out to read Harry’s message.

Scrawling, fire-colored text etched itself in the coin’s face.

_Meeting at HQ. ASAP. Draco Malfoy present._

She glanced at Harry questioningly. He lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “If we don’t warn them and they walk through the door and see him, half of them will draw their wands and the other half will tackle him to the ground muggle-style.”

He had a point. Hermione nodded in surrender, and then without so much as another word took off towards the meeting area to ensure it was all in order. Most of all, she needed a minute alone. Seeing Draco for the first time in over a year had brought back so many memories, and it wasn’t until she was behind a solid oak door that she finally let out the painful, deep breath she’d been holding all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the awesome response to this story. I appreciate all of the support - ya'll are the best. <3


	3. Dare You to Move

_Everybody's watching you now_  
_Everybody waits for you now_  
_What happens next? What happens next?_  
_I dare you to move,_ _I dare you to move_  
**_Dare You To Move, Switchfoot_ **

They arrived through the various open channels; if their magical signature was aligned to the cottage, there were no restrictions on apparition, floo, or the front door. They were the oddest assortment of wizards and witches from wildly different backgrounds, but Hermione couldn’t be prouder of the way they’d banded together in the wake of Voldemort’s downfall. Sure, they occasionally squabbled over things, but they’d done a lot of good since they aligned under the banner of The Order of the Phoenix.

With Harry as the leader of the group, it operated much like Dumbledore’s Army had back in their Hogwarts years. Some of the members, like Luna, Neville, and George, were instrumental in the formation of the new Order, where as some came as a surprise, like Theo Nott, Tracey Davis, and Pansy Parkinson. Certainly, it’d taken some getting used to. Old house rivalries, and the fact that a certain pug-faced girl had once tried to hand Harry over to Voldemort, meant animosity had run deep. But, after many near-duels and a _lot_ of firewhiskey, the end result was, at least, amicable co-existence.

It also helped that a certain bespectacled boy had fallen head-over-heels in love with a tall, broody Slytherin.

The rest, they collectively decided, was history.

Hermione waved at Daphne as she entered the meeting room. It was an official, large space with so many spells and charms protecting it that even the collective staff of Hogwarts, using all their magic combined, wouldn’t be able to penetrate it. Daphne afforded her a light smile and clung to her boyfriend’s hand. Blaise merely tipped his chin to Hermione in greeting and led Daphne to two chairs around the back of the table.

Harry spoke in whispers to Theo, his shoulder pressed into his boyfriend’s chest, his chin tilted up and eyes brighter than Hermione had seen all night. Draco hung back in a chair next to Pansy and Tracey, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, watching the Order congregate and greet one another.

It wasn’t very often that they called a meeting with everyone in attendance at the same time. Certain members, such as Neville, who was based at Hogwarts, were specially stationed and able to deal with local issues. George monitored Diagon Alley, and Tracey Davis was a halfway point between the Order and Hogwarts, a point specifically located in Sheffield’s magical community. Charlie acted as their eyes and ears within the Ministry, which had turned out to be important now that they knew Robards couldn’t be trusted to provide them with reliable or complete information. Luna, bless her, traveled all over the world, and had a hand in _The Quibbler_ , which they’d used to publish articles that combated the propaganda the Ministry published in _The Daily Prophet._

Everyone had a role.

Luna was the last to arrive, and skipped through the door of the meeting room with her pale hair whipping about her head. Clinging to her shoulder was a tiny bright blue pygmy puff whose eyes were as round as galleons. A large grin enveloped Luna’s face as she waved to everyone and apologized for her late arrival.

“I found an abandoned kelpie in Bristol, and couldn’t just leave the poor dear on its own,” she explained as she took her seat next to Charlie.

“That’s unusual, isn’t it?” Charlie asked her, leaning close with the faintest smile. “I’ve only ever witnessed them in groups.”

“Oh yes,” Luna said, nodding her chin seriously. “Highly unusual. Some might even say it’s a bad omen.”

Hermione rolled her neck, basking in the pop of a bone, and counted to three before she took her seat on Luna’s other side. Harry closed the door to the room and sealed it with his wand before taking his usual seat with his back to the door.

The chatter around the table died.

The table was round and enlarged with a charm. Harry didn’t want anyone to have the idea that he was creating a dictatorship within The Order, and so he insisted that they sit in a circle, so that no one person was at the head. Theo had argued, muttered something about Harry being a do-gooder Gryffindor, but the matter was settled by the time they’d all woken up the next morning. Hermione never asked how. There were some things she just didn’t need to know about her friend’s love life.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice.” Harry let his eyes wander around the hodgepodge group of wizards and witches. “It’s been a bit of a mental night for us here, as you can see by our special guest this evening.” He gestured towards Draco, a breath of a laugh in his voice. “He’s been granted privileges here, for the foreseeable future. If that’s going to be an issue for anyone, I suggest you leave now.”

There was a grumble through the group; Hermione heard George whisper something to Charlie, something about Draco that sounded derogatory, but ignored it. When no one else spoke, Harry nodded and folded his hands together, resting them on the solid oak table.

“My cousin’s been bitten by a vampire.”

The words settled over the group, and though Hermione had expected more gasps of shock or, indeed, any reaction at all, everyone remained silent and riveted by Harry. He had clearly been expecting a reaction because he cleared his throat awkwardly and, after a beat, pressed on.

“Draco showed up on our doorstep tonight having saved Dudley from being killed by a vampire.” All eyes were on Draco, who didn’t bat an eye, or shrink back as Hermione had expected. “We discovered that the vampire problem we thought was contained to wizarding London and Hogsmeade, where Sanguini lives, is actually a much larger issue.”

“Should have taken the bloodsucker out when we had the chance,” Zabini muttered, and then he jostled Draco with his elbow and laughed lightly. “Joking, mate. I know you like the bloke.”

Again, Draco was stoic, not rising to the bait.

“While I don’t disagree,” Harry continued, “I don’t believe that this is all down to Sanguini at all. Draco has been working alongside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to monitor a new vampire in the UK. A _muggle_ vampire.”

“That’s also been a recurring issue near Nottingham,” Tracey said, and all eyes at the table snapped to her. She peered at them from beneath a thick, dark fringe. Her lips held a natural pout that rarely broke into a smile. “There’s a new coven, some new vampire that’s been turning muggles around the area.”

“And we’re just hearing about this because…?” Harry gritted his teeth, and his hands turned white under the strain of clenching his fists together.

Tracey’s large, dark eyes flitted to Harry. “It was _you_ who said each arm of the Order had autonomy over their local operation.” Her cheek twitched, and Hermoine swore she heard Daphne cover a snort with a cough. “I’ve been monitoring the situation.”

“How many muggles have they turned?”

“In the past six months? Four, plus your cousin.”

“And you didn’t think it was worth alerting the rest of us to this?” Harry’s eyebrows were high on his head; Hermione could feel his anger radiating from him. “If we had known there was a situation, we could have stopped it!”

“There was nothing to stop.” Blaise Zabini jumped to Tracey’s defense and addressed Harry in a hard voice. “Two vampires is less than you’ve been dealing with in London, isn’t it? And this is the first time you’ve called a meeting of the Order about it. Because your family’s now involved; otherwise, you’ve been waiting it out to see what’s happening.”

Hermione caught Blaise’s eye, and the corner of her lip jumped briefly. “He’s not wrong, Harry.” All eyes were on her; she so very rarely agreed with the former Slytherins when it was ‘Harry versus the room’. She tried to apologize with a kind glance in her friend’s direction. “It’s personal to you now, and so it feels more urgent. But the most important thing is that we have a clearer picture now. We can do something _now_.”

“Now is a little too late for Dudley,” Harry griped as he tapped his fingers against the table. “Fine.” He didn’t _look_ fine. “Do you know anything about this Desdemona? Weaknesses? Visitors?”

Tracey’s eyes moved slowly to Draco, and when Hermione’s gaze fell on him she noticed that he’d been looking at her. How long had he been watching her? A blush rose to her cheeks, and his stare finally moved from her to Tracey.

“There haven’t been any visitors that I could see, except Draco.” Tracey said his name like a whisper, as if she hadn’t wanted to admit it at all and was trying to keep it to herself. “But obviously, you know that now. She has her castle on lockdown; there are guards at all hours. There’s no visible way of entering except through the front gate, and something tells me that doing that is not an easy feat.”

Draco’s shook his head back and forth lightly; he’d mentioned that to them earlier. Hermione watched the way he looked around the room. Slowly, calculatingly, as if assessing everyone assembled. When he got to her again, Hermione dropped her eyes to the parchment in front of her.

“Sounds to me like there’s only one solution, then.” Draco stated, his hard voice somehow also perfectly smooth, as it brought the room to utter silence. “Potter, your cousin is going to have to be your inside man in Desdemona’s coven.”

“Bollocks,” Harry spit immediately, “there’s no sodding way I’m sending Dudley into _that_. You don’t know him; he’s not… I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t try to walk into the sunlight when he finds out what he is.”

Draco’s gray eyes rose to the ceiling and he cursed under his breath. “The only other solution is to find a different muggle who doesn’t mind eternal life, turning them, and asking them to spy on Desdemona for us.”

“Right, and any muggle that’s _willing_ to turn into a vampire isn’t going to want to spy on their sire.” It was Charlie’s voice that was one of the reason, strained though it was with his bulky arms crossed over his chest. He lifted his bearded chin to Malfoy. “He’s right, Harry. This is the best opportunity we’re ever going to have.”

“If she chose Dudley on purpose, I could always—” But Harry was interrupted as the entire room burst into expletives and sighs.

“Saint Fucking Potter, again.”

“Saving people complex hasn’t gone anywhere.”

“Oh, Harry, you can’t possibly—”

“Fucking Gryffindors.”

Theo placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, and caught his green stare with a very pointed look. “You’ll do no such thing. You might have a death wish, but every fiber of my being is willing to keep you alive at all costs.”

The room fell silent once again. They all watched the war raging in front of them as the two men silently stared one another down.

“Fine.” Harry’s shoulders rolled backward, a deep crack filled the room, and that was that. “He’ll need to understand a lot more than just what it means to be a vampire. Davis—”

Tracey’s chin tilted in his direction, the only sign that she’d accepted his tone of authority as their leader.

“As you’re in Sheffield, and I consider this your cock up—” a round of grumbles from Pansy and Daphne were silenced by Harry’s raised hand, “you’ll be Dudley’s contact for Order purposes. He’ll be your charge.”

“I know next to nothing about raising a new vampire,” Tracey said, not argumentatively, but as if she were trying to remind their rather emotional leader that he wasn’t thinking things through… again.

“I offered my help.” Draco inspected his nails, and Hermione recognized the haughty tone as one he’d often used when he’d been right and she’d been wrong. Instead of this making her want to hex him, a different, more curious, feeling coursed through her.

“We need something else from you.”

His movements stopped entirely and he was utterly still at the sound of her voice. Hermione swallowed, willing him to look at her again, but he didn’t. She sucked in a greedy breath.

“Something isn’t right with Sanguini’s coven,” she went on to explain, letting her eyes drift from Draco’s still body to the rest of the avid listeners in the room. “The activity we’re seeing currently is more than we’ve seen in the past year put together. We need Draco to get closer to Sanguini. We need more information about what he’s up to.”

“Gawain already has him up Sanguini’s arse,” Theo reminded her lightly, eyes flitting over Harry’s profile and watching the way his jaw ticked. His lips tugged down at the corners, so imperceptible that, had she not been paying attention, she would have missed it. He was so clearly worried for Harry, and Hermione adored him for it.

“Even so.” She continued, wetting her lips and glancing back at Draco. “You’re going to need to get even closer to him. Friendly, even.”

He finally acknowledged her with his gaze, and her heart jumped to her throat when their eyes met. Silver, in the torchlight of the room, clashing against the dark brown of her own irises. Merlin, she missed the way a single look from him could send her reeling.

His chin lifted, minute and quick, and her pulse quickened. “Shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, voice a low timber that felt as if it were only for her. Draco crossed one arm over his chest, while resting a hand on his jaw. “He’s a bit of a quirky bloke, and with his growing coven, has expressed a need for a right hand. As I’m experienced…”

Her heart slammed from her throat to her stomach, and she swore the room took a collective breath. It was George who broke the uncomfortable silence, his voice too bright and forced.

“We’re opening a branch of Wheezes in Hogsmeade,” he announced and clapped a hand on Neville’s shoulder, “Longbottom and I can operate as sanctuary when it’s required for you, Malfoy.”

“And if you need anyone to monitor Wheezes, Pansy and I are entering the slow season for the boutique,” Daphne added, nudging her friend with an elbow. “Isn’t that right, Pansy? We can help Weasley, can’t we?”

Pansy paused for a beat, surveyed George with her naturally sultry eyes, and her lips lifted. “Whatever we can do, Weasley. All you have to do is ask.”

The entire meeting had been like a wildly swinging pendulum between tension and awkwardness, and Hermione wanted to crawl into a dark alcove of Potter Cottage and hide until everyone left. Especially since a certain gray stare still hadn’t left her face; even though she wasn’t looking directly at him, she could feel the pinpricks of Draco’s attention scattering along her spine. Trying to ignore the sensations that Draco had stirred in her, Hermione gave a short cough and nodded her head as if that cleared the air.

“Right,” she said, drawing the attention back to herself. “It’s settled. Dudley will act as an informant on Desdemona’s coven, and will report directly to Tracey. Draco will get closer to Sanguini, reporting directly to George and Neville. In the meantime—”

The door to the meeting room burst open and a dozen wizards and witches lifted their wands towards the door, ready to fight. What should have been an impenetrable fortress was disrupted in a hot second as Cormac McLaggen’s long, brick-like body appeared in the doorframe. He wore a massive grin and floppy blond hair, as he faced the entire Order of the Phoenix.

“Hey guys!” He chucked a wave in their direction and found an empty chair next to George. “Luna, thanks for the heads up. Someone—” his eyes moved to Harry, sparkling despite his accusing tone, “forgot to send a message to me, and Lovegood here was kind enough to forward it on.”

Hermione snuck a glance to Harry, who wore thin, sheepish smile. Theo was chuckling into his shoulder, his face buried in the fabric of his jumper, which did very little to muffle the sound.

“Sorry,” Harry said finally, the strain in his voice cracking over a short laugh. “Not sure how that happened, mate. You’re not a very forgettable bloke.”

The tension immediately dissipated as Cormac’s entire air shifted to one of self-importance. “All is forgiven! So, what did I miss?”

“New muggle vampire in Nottinghamshire. Potter’s cousin’s a vampire now. Malfoy’s becoming bosom-buddies with Sanguini.” Charlie ticked off the list on his fingers, and glanced to Luna with a grin. “About cover it?”

She nodded once. “Satisfactory summary, Charles.”

Harry provided a slightly more detailed overview, and Cormac tapped his finger against his cheek. “I have an old acquaintance up near Sheffield. She’s called Perpetua — anciently old.” He cracked a knuckle, eyes unseeing and far away, as if remembering something, and then he added, “She’s an alchemist, so she’s been around a while. I’ll pop ‘round to see her. Maybe she knows something about this Desdemona vamp.”

“Good. Right.” Harry clapped his hands together, before running his fingers through his rogue hair. “Since we’re all together, let’s have an update.”

“The Wizengamot is seeking a rewrite of the Vampire Legislation Bill.” Charlie said, as he propped an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. “Minister’s not too keen on it, but with the Supreme Mugwump backing him, I don’t have a choice but to draft it.” He glanced at Draco, and Hermione watched the way a muscle in the latter’s jaw twitched. “I’ll stall as long as I can, but they’re using terms like ‘euthanize’ and ‘Kiss’.”

Hermione paled and couldn’t help but seek out their lone vampire guest. He barely reacted, as if it were expected that the Ministry would pull such a shoddy move. Her heart ached for him, but she kept her collected composure as best as she could. She wished he’d look at her, but he seemed to be making a point of looking anywhere but towards her.

Harry rubbed the back of his hand absently, until Theo took his scarred hand in his and entwined their fingers. “Keep that bill from being passed at all costs, Charlie. I’ll check with Kingsley, see what I can do. Luna?”

“On it, Harry.” She pulled a quill out from somewhere in her hair, and summoned a small roll of parchment from her bag. “ _The Quibbler_ will critique the legislation and call into question the Supreme Mugwump’s history with the League of Vampires—”

“That’s not a thing,” Draco deadpanned, lips barely moving around the words.

“Yes it is.” Luna kept scribbling on her parchment. “When I was in Zambia last month, the president was seeking further information on the Mugwump’s visitations, which only happen at night.”

“He’s magical,” Hermione interrupted, hoping it would draw Draco’s attention to her. It didn’t. She stared at his blond head as he tilted it down towards his feet, as if inspecting his shoes. “Magical vampires can cast charms to walk in the daylight.”

A murmur ran through the table, but Luna wasn’t swayed. She merely rolled up her scribbled-on parchment and stuffed it into her pocket. The quill was lost once again to her hair. The little pygmy puff on her shoulder nuzzled its face against her cheek and purred.

“There’s no news from Hogwarts. If Desdemona is trying to include you in whatever her plan is, I think we should lockdown the school. No one in, no one out. All the old security measures.” Neville, who had grown up into a spectacularly fit man, leaned back in his chair and kept himself from falling backward with three fingers on the table. “I’ll let McGonagall know the details so we can put the castle on alert. She’s been itching to use the gargoyles, so she’ll be pleased.”

“Fantastic. Thanks, Neville.” Harry’s chin bobbed, and he turned to Theo. “I can feel your nervous energy, you know. Out with it.”

Theo’s sharp cheekbones and piercing, hazel eyes traveled the room. “The Carrow Estate was broken into. Amycus is fixing the wards, but there’s no word on where Alecto is. She seems to have gone missing during the burglary.” He scratched at his forearm absently. His throat constricted, the planes tight around the chords in his neck. “There’s no intel from the underground Death Eaters on who it could have been, but I’ll keep pressing for more.”

“It can’t be tied to the muggle vampire issue, surely?” George asked, his eyes flicking between Harry and Theo. “The Death Eaters would never—”

“Don’t be so quick to conclude what those sadistic bastards would and wouldn’t do,” Blaise hissed quietly as he wrapped his arm around Daphne’s slender shoulders. “There’s not one person in this room who doesn’t remember exactly what they’ve done, things that they would never have done if someone hadn’t been threatening them with The Killing Curse.”

His eyes, peculiarly, landed on Hermione’s. She chewed her lip between her teeth. “Never say never, of course,” she agreed, though the roil of her stomach did nothing to help keep her voice even. “Theo, please keep your ear to the ground. The last thing we need is a Death Eater outbreak in the midst of the vampire situation. It would be a nightmare.”

Theo’s adam’s apple climbed his throat as he tipped his chin. His thumb crawled over Harry’s knuckles, and she noticed for the first time that he’d been squeezing Theo’s hand so tightly that his knuckles were stark white.

“Anyone else have anything to add?” Hermione asked, pulling her attention away from her obviously distraught friend to the rest of the group. When no one spoke up, she stood from her seat. “Then I call this meeting adjourned. You’re all welcome to stay for a drink — it’s been too long since we’ve caught up.”

“Draco, you hanging around, mate?”

Hermione zeroed in on him again — she couldn’t seem to keep her focus off him. Draco finally, _finally_ looked at her, and it stole her breath away. His lips pinched, and he lifted his chin. “Yeah, I’ve got time for one.”

“Brilliant.”

The Order of the Phoenix stood from their seats and began to disperse into smaller groups and started separate conversations. Hermione tugged on Harry’s sleeve and he ducked his head down so that she could whisper into his ear.

“We need to have someone monitoring Dudley.” Her eyes darted to Draco, who hadn’t stopped watching her. Heat bloomed in her chest and traveled up her body until it created a rosy blush on her cheeks. “Our infirmary isn’t sunlight tight — if he doesn’t get somewhere safe before morning…”

From across the room, Draco’s eyes glittered. He tilted his chin and moved through the room, slinking as a cat might. As he rounded her, his hand shot out to her hip and he lowered his lips to her ear.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

It was the closest she’d been to him in over a year. The familiar heat that used to radiate from him was gone, and was instead replaced by the thrill of the unknown. She stayed utterly still as his lips ghosted over the shell of her ear.

“Stop watching me,” he whispered, and then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love, still, for mcal and Lunamionny, for all their help on this fic. <3


	4. Closer to the Edge

_I don't remember one moment I tried to forget  
I lost myself, is it better not said  
Now I'm closer to the edge  
**_Closer to the Edge, 30 Seconds to Mars_**_

__

When the spirits were pulled out of the drinks cabinet, official Order business concluded. Hermione tended towards an imported brew called Beeblebrox, which had a lemony punch at the end. Most of her cohort, however, enjoyed traditional firewhiskey or a high-end liquor called Ambrosia. After the wizarding war, muggle liquor hadn’t quite hit the mark – besides, Hermione had always hated the taste of firewhiskey – and so she had gone on a hunt for more flavorful, adult beverages to stock in their cottage. It had been Luna who discovered Beeblebrox on her travels, and Hermione took to it instantly.

Cormac stood in front of a mirror that hung on the living room wall, and mussed his hair up while making faces at himself. He kept trying to rope Luna or Pansy into his rather conceited conversation, but they were saved from him by Charlie and Blaise, respectively. Hermione watched as Cormac shrugged it off and turned back to himself with a pout of his lower lip. She caught the voice of the mirror carrying over the chatter in the room, and hid a laugh behind her hand.

“ _ Of course you look fabulous, darling. Those eyes, that jawline. Magnificent. _ ”

She thought that if Cormac could take the mirror home with him, he would.

She sat on a two-seater sofa with her feet pulled under her legs. Her glass of yellow drink was perched upon her knee as she returned to her conversation with George. She absentmindedly wrapped her fingers around her curls.

“A new shop?” she asked him, a shrewd and playful smile on her face. “Molly hadn’t mentioned that at our last Weasley dinner. You haven’t told your mum yet?”

George’s face split in a grin, and he tossed her a quick wink. “Mum is afraid I’m going to pack up and leave now that the shop is successful. I’m waiting for the right moment to tell her I’m going to be part-time in Scotland.”

“She’ll understand, George. She’s keeping busy with little Victoire — being a gran suits her.” Hermione drank from her glass, the tart liquid stung her tongue in a delightful way. “But, if you wait to tell her, she’ll have kittens.”

George laughed, his head falling forward with a stiff nod. A movement out of the corner of Hermione’s eye caught her attention and, as George went on to explain the finer points of opening a business in Scotland versus England, she found she wasn’t listening anymore. Instead, her attention was on Theo, whose long fingers curled around Harry’s elbow and pulled him away from a conversation with Daphne and Blaise. They stepped out of view, and she wished she could hear them over the disparate chatter going on in the living room.

Even though she knew he was in the infirmary with Dudley, waiting for the inevitable moment for him to ‘rise’, Hermione still searched for that familiar flash of blond hair. That must be what Theo was speaking with Harry about, it had to be. Anything else would be Order business, and there were no secrets amongst the Order.

“Hermione?” George nudged her with his foot and she startled. “I know business is a relatively boring topic, but I thought you like that sort of thing.”

“I’m so sorry. I just — I have to go check on Dudley.” Without another word, Hermione pushed herself up from the sofa and tipped the last of her drink down her throat, before setting the glass on a tray floating nearby.

Instead of veering left for the hallway where Theo and Harry were tucked, which led to the infirmary where Dudley lay unconscious, Hermione continued straight through the kitchen to the back door of the house. She pushed open the door and greeted the crisp night air as it settled over her heated skin.

The garden wasn’t huge, but it was big enough to hold a small patio with a swing and a few chairs. There was a heavy crystal ashtray on a low glass table, and several trees that grew taller than the fence that boxed in the garden. There were so many enchantments over the space, Hermione was sure that there was a constant heating charm in place. She was thankful for this, since there was a bitter chill in the air and she hadn’t grabbed her cloak before running from the house.

She sat on the swing and stared up at the sky. The Beeblebox she’d consumed had done a great job of creating a light haze in her head, loosening her sore muscles that were tense from the worries of the day. But, Merlin, did she need a moment to stop and catch her breath.

They’d come so far in the past five years. It never ceased to amaze her. No new dark lords had cropped up in the time since Voldemort fell, which had been the number one concern of the Ministry. Much to Hermione’s consternation, of course.

There had been so many articles in  _ The Daily Prophet _ following the demise of Tom Riddle in which Harry had been singled out as the next ‘coming of darkness’. They proclaimed only a powerful wizard could possibly have stopped Voldemort, and with Albus Dumbledore out of the way, Harry Potter —  _ the boy who lived, over and over again —  _ was, of course, prime suspect number one.

After the first year, the scaremongering had slowed. The odd article would appear every now and again, stirring up controversy over the fact that the newly elected Minister Shacklebolt was training the then-dubbed ‘Golden Trio’ in the art of the Aurors and defensive magic.

After the second year, the articles stopped altogether. They only picked up again when Harry was spotted publicly with Theo for the first time. She’d never forget the way that Harry had stormed into the offices of _ The Daily Prophet _ and demanded a retraction. The only time Rita Skeeter had been more scared was when Hermione had trapped her in a jar.

In the third year, the rumors of the reformation of The Order of the Phoenix began circulating the wizarding world and — 

“Sorry.” A familiar drawl interrupted Hermione’s musings, and her head whipped around to see him standing just outside the door. The light from the kitchen glowed behind him, illuminating him with an ethereal shimmer. “I didn’t realize anyone would be out here. I’ll just—”

“No!” She reached for him, despite the fact that there was no way she could actually touch him from such a distance. Her heart leaped when he stopped his retreat.

He hadn’t changed all that much. Draco still wore the hell out of a button-up shirt, the arms of which were rolled to his elbows and the collar loosed by two buttons, revealing a pale and slender expanse of throat. She met his gaze lazily and offered him a small smile.

“You aren’t interrupting anything, truly.” Hermione crossed her legs and lifted her chin. Draco’s eyes shifted to the ground by his feet, and he toed a rock on the pavement. “Why is it so hard to look at me?”

“It’s not like that, Granger,” he chuckled, a dark smirk lifting the corners of his lips, and finally brought his eyes to hers again. Her heart flipped. Still, after all this time, her reactions to him were practically violent. “Don’t be so full of yourself.”

She deflated and dropped his gaze. Hands wrapped together in her lap, she pulled at her knuckles until they gave a satisfying crack. “Then, what’s it like?” Hermione’s eyes lifted slowly until she was staring at him from under her thick lashes. “Your best friend and mine are going to be together forever. We might as well get along.”

When Draco smiled, it was like the galaxy was moving just for her; she felt like the center of his universe, and perhaps that had always been the problem. Still, even as he rewarded her with his most honest lopsided smirk, stars burst in all the right places inside of her. She would do anything to be on the receiving end of his smile again. Her face flushed. His canines popped out over his stained bottom lip, and he ran a tongue over its sharp edge.

“You smell  _ so _ bloody good.” He shook his head as if trying to erase her scent from his mind. “My mouth has been watering since I showed up on your doorstep.”

In the space of time that it took her to blink, Draco’s eyes blew wide, pupils dilating and shrinking the stormy gray irises that usually stared back at her. She’d never seen anything like it. Her hand instinctively moved to her throat and clutched at it as a gasp escaped her.

Her reaction unnerved him, it was the only explanation. He bid her a swift apology and turned to the door. This time, when she called after him, he didn’t stop. Hermione pushed herself from the swing and tore off after him; she wasn’t sure if she wanted to soothe him or herself. She knew Draco’s behavior was a creature thing, a biological impulse — she  _ knew _ that — and she had to tell him.

By the time she made it to the archway between the kitchen and the living room, he was gone from sight. She wandered toward the hallway where Theo and Harry had been, but she didn’t see any sign of Draco there either. Hermione spun on the spot, nearly clipping Charlie’s bulky arm, and flung her hands down to her sides with an exasperated sigh.

“What’s wrong, love?” Charlie asked around the lip of his glass; a pink tonic she recognized as Ambrosia.

Hermione shook her head, unsure of what to say;  _ have you seen this vampire? _ didn’t seem an appropriate question to ask in a room full of trained Aurors and vigilantes. She tried to peer over his shoulder, to perhaps catch a glimpse of familiar pale hair, but just then, strong arms that seemed to emerge from the edge of the shadowy hallway behind her, grabbed her around the middle. 

Sharp fangs sank into her neck.

The last thing she remembered before losing consciousness were bright spots bursting behind her eyes.

* * *

The living room at Potter Cottage glowed bright red.

Nine wands simultaneously shot nine stunning spells, at the vampire who still had his arms around Hermione’s waist. Harry didn’t have to stop and consider that Dudley was his cousin, that he was likely to be confused over his new existence.

Hermione was his true family. If anything happened to her, he’d burn the world down.

As Dudley fell into a heap, with Hermione crumpled in his arms, Harry shot forward, pocketing his wand. His hands pulled her up, and he turned to Theo with a pained expression on his face:  _ help me _ , it said silently. And Theo, just as he had been for years now, was by his side, helping to hoist Hermione to her feet so that they could carry her down the hall to the infirmary.

When they had Hermione lying on a bed, Harry turned to Theo. “Find Draco. Bring him to me. And get Dudley out of the damn living room.”

“Where do you want him?” Theo was all business; the sharp planes of his face twitching under his clenched jaw. Harry could feel the stir of nervous energy that thrummed between them, and he fucking loved Theo for holding it back.

“Strap him to the sodding roof for all I care. I don’t want to see him until I know she’s alright.”

He turned from Theo to Hermione’s limp body lying on the bed. Her blood stained the white sheets, bright red and oozing continuously from two haphazard puncture marks on her neck. Muggle bite; he couldn’t heal it with magic, there was no seal on the wounds. If he didn’t do something quickly — something brilliant, something  _ Hermione _ — he’d lose her.

“Fuck.” He kicked his foot against the metal post of the bed and watched it jerk under Hermione’s body. 

He summoned gauze and held it against her neck. He’d never felt so damn useless in his entire life. Harry had never been any good at healing; he always cocked up the spells and had absolutely zero instinct for it. Ironic, considering the entire wizarding world thought he had a ‘saving people complex’. 

He laughed ruefully as he applied more pressure to Hermione’s wounds. Her face was draining of color. “Don’t you  _ dare _ leave me, do you understand me?”

The door to the infirmary burst open and Draco appeared at his side. Harry never thought that he’d be particularly happy to see Draco Malfoy of all people, but his shoulders visibly relaxed and even as Malfoy shoved him aside, Harry was relieved.

“What the fuck happened to her, Potter?” His voice was a menacing hiss as he pulled the gauze away from her neck. If it were possible, Draco’s entire face paled further. His eyes followed the path of Hermione’s blood from the two wounds to the stained sheet beneath her, and his fangs popped out. “Well?”

“Dudley… I don’t know.” Harry said helplessly, gesturing towards her body like a useless idiot. “One minute she was talking to Charlie, and the next Dudley had his fucking fangs in her neck and she fainted.”

“How much blood has she lost?” Draco demanded as he stuck his index finger to his canine and bit down on the soft skin. Several dots of blood dribbled from its tip.

“I don’t know.” Why hadn’t he been paying attention? Fuck, he’d been right where she was standing not five minutes before she’d been attacked; why couldn’t it have been him? “He couldn’t have had her for long. Less than a minute.”

Draco pressed his bloodied finger to Hermione’s neck, his head bowed over hers. Harry couldn’t make out the words he was whispering, but it felt so intimate that the tips of his ears heated up just watching it.

When Draco pulled away, the wounds on her neck were slowly closing, and Harry nearly collapsed to the floor in relief. “Will she be okay?”

“She hasn’t been drained, and he missed her artery — he’s a  _ terrible _ vampire,” Draco snorted darkly, and turned to Harry. “It’s more than I could do for your cousin, Potter. But I can’t stop her from turning.”

His words knocked Harry in the gut and stole his breath.  _ No _ . Harry rushed to her side, nearly pushing over Draco in the process. He let his hand fall across her forehead and smoothed her wild curls back from her face. “Wake up,” he begged her in a pained breath. “Hermione, please, please wake up.”

“She’ll wake up.” Draco slunk across the room, pulled a chair to her bedside and forced Harry to sit down in it. He glanced up at Draco hopefully, only to find an angry scowl on his face. “But it might be hours before the transformation is—”

“Wh-what…” Hermione’s voice was soft and raspy, but even so , Harry’s heart soared at the sound of it. His finger snagged on a lock of her hair as she pushed herself up on her elbows and glanced at him, and then at Draco. “What happened?” She lifted a hand to her neck and gasped. “Am I…?”

“You’ve only been out for a short period of time,” Draco explained from somewhere behind Harry. “You couldn’t have turned. But, you should have.”

“I’m protected,” she whispered, and Harry’s eyes fixed on her fingers as they danced along the silver scars that had been bleeding profusely only moments before.

“Protected?” Harry repeated and he felt Draco stir at his back as Theo rushed through the infirmary doors, and skidded across the floor to his side.

“Is she—”

“Perfectly fine,” Draco supplied in a tone of bemusement. “Evidently, she’s  _ protected _ .”

“There’s a charm. I—” She swallowed and Harry watched her wince, immediately conjuring a glass and spelling water into it for her. She grabbed it, drank and sighed. “I cast it on all of us when the vampire activity began to get more pronounced in London. As a precaution.”

“You charmed me without asking?” Harry’s eyebrows rose.

“Potter, focus.” Draco smacked him on the back of the head, and Harry swore he heard Theo chuckle.  _ Some boyfriend _ , he thought as he rolled his eyes. “She saved her own life, and if it had been you that’d been bitten, she’d have spared you from the most intense pain you’ve ever felt.”

“Don’t know about that,” he said, “ever share a soul with a dark lord?”

Theo smacked him round the head that time, but Harry couldn’t stop the grin that crawled up his face. Relief soared inside of him, and he couldn’t tamper down the emotions that suddenly flooded him.

“Is Dudley okay?” Hermione asked as a comfortable silence fell over the sterile room.

“Fine,” Theo answered, but he was looking at Harry. “I didn’t tie him to the roof, per your request, but I did use some crafty spellwork to hold him down to your bed for the time being.”

“My bed?” Harry grimaced and stood from his seat as Hermione pushed herself off the bed and stretched her legs. “You tied him up in  _ my _ room? The room that we—” he glanced to Hermione and Draco, and then leaned to Theo’s ear and whispered, “do that thing you like, with the—”

Theo’s responding smirk was positively sinful, and Harry bit back the groan that built in his throat. “Yeah, there,” Theo said simply, a curt nod preceded a shudder from Harry. “I wasn’t about to go into the room Longbottom occupies when he’s here.”

Their fingers tangled together and Harry had to stifle his grin, as it felt vastly out of place given the current situation. “We’ll need to enervate Dudley soon so Malfoy can get him somewhere safe.”

He turned to Hermione just in time to see her face pinch. An expression she always wore when she was turning over unpleasant information in her mind. After so many years of knowing her, Harry was sure he could read her mind simply by watching her face.

“What is it, Hermione?” Harry stepped forward and dragged Theo along with him. He basked in the feel of his thumb caressing Theo’s index finger, though he tried to keep his face neutral as he assessed Hermione’s somber expression. She didn’t look at him; she was focused only on Malfoy.

“Draco.” It was soft, but he felt such weight in her whisper. Her fingers still clung to her throat that was still stained with bloody lines.

Harry felt helpless as the vampire in question left the infirmary without another word. He made to go after him; whether to defend Hermione, or to thank him for saving her, Harry wasn’t sure. But it was Theo’s tight hold on him that gave him pause.

“Let him go, Boy Wonder,” his deep voice murmured into Harry’s ear. “You can’t possibly save everyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to mcal and Lunamionny for working so hard on this story. I don't make their lives easy, but they certainly make mine better. <3 
> 
> Beeblebrox Brew is a reference to Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.


	5. Barely Breathing

_What is this attraction?  
I only feel the pain  
There's nothing left to reason  
and only you to blame  
Will it ever change?  
 **Barely Breathing, Duncan Sheik**_

  
  


Dudley had come round from the multiple-stunning assault and had not seemed to remember what had happened when he'd previously woken up in the cottage. He seemed oblivious to the fact he had attacked Hermione, or that he was a vampire at all.

After most of The Order had dispersed, Dudley stood framed under the archway of the hall while Hermione, Harry, and Theo cleaned the house — the muggle way, as was Hermione’s demand. He wasn’t a particularly tall boy, but his mop of hair added a good inch to his height. And he wasn’t a very round boy, though he didn’t have the chords of muscle that stretched beneath Harry’s skin, either.

Hermione had never met Dudley before. But somehow, by the end of the night, she’d already seen far too much of him. The way Harry had always described Dudley, she’d expected a bumbling baboon with suspenders and a cane. What she actually found was a young blond man with soft edges and a bit of a dopey smile.

He was perfectly normal, as it were.

“Feel like a bloody lorry rolled over me ‘ead.” Dudley’s hand cradled the back of his skull, and his eyes squeezed shut as he stumbled into the living room and promptly plopped down on the nearest high-backed chair.

“We need Draco,” Hermione muttered out of the corner of her mouth to the wizards at her side. “What if he attacks us?”

“We’re _protected_ , apparently,” Harry retorted back, pulling a grumble from her in response.

She decided to try a different tactic, since her best mate currently seemed to have his head up his own arse. Hermione schooled her tetchy features and focused on Dudley instead.

“Er, Dudley?” Hermione spoke softly and attempted a kind smile, drawing his blue eyes to her. They flashed, and she winced, her body remembering the feel of his arms wound around her waist and the way his teeth sank into her neck. “How are you feeling?”

“Already said, din’ I? Feel like a dog’s arse.” With one hand on either side of his head, he ducked his face between his legs. “Fuckin’ hungry ‘n all. What smells so bloody good?”

Hermione took an instinctive step to the side and bumped her shoulder against Harry’s arm. “Get. Draco.”

“No need.” Four heads whipped toward the silky sound of his voice, which came from the roaring fireplace across the room. Behind him, there was a large, oddly-shaped black box that immediately gave Hermione the creeps. “What, did you believe that I’d leave you to deal with a new vampire on your own?” He snorted and levitated the box — the _coffin_ , upon closer inspection — to the center of the room. “All of the Felix Felicis in the world wouldn’t help you lot with this task.”

“Is it unnerving to anyone else that he has complete access to the cottage now?” Harry asked, the ghost of a nervous laugh on his lips. He glanced back and forth between Hermione and Theo; the former nodded her head, the latter shook his. “Pretty certain this is my worst nightmare.”

“Not Voldemort’s resurrection?” Theo raised a pointed, perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Kittens compared to this,” Harry responded immediately, jutting his chin in the direction of the two blonds.

Theo wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulder and pulled him close. Hermione, however, agreed with her best friend’s sentiments and steeled herself. Hands shoved firmly into her pockets, she watched as Draco sat down next to Dudley and introduced himself.

“Are you all like ‘im?” Dudley jutted out his thumb and aimed it at Harry, who grimaced.

“Do you mean to ask if we’re magical?” Draco’s voice was reserved, quiet, and Hermione watched as a nerve ticked in his jaw. “Yes, we are. But _we—_ ” his index finger moved like a pendulum between him and Dudley, “are also something _more_.”

“What?” The poor bloke’s mouth hung open and he peered around the room. His eyes narrowed when they landed on Harry. “You havin’ a laugh? What’m I doing here, anyway? ‘Ow’d I get here? You havin’ me on, then? Another one of your _funny_ things?”

“No, Dudley, it’s not like that. See,” Harry glared in Hermione’s direction as if she had something to do with his cousin turning up on their doorstep. “This is exactly why I wanted him out of the house before he woke up.”

“That’s just not practical, Harry,” Hermione grumbled at him. She took a seat in a chair on Dudley’s other side. “Dudley.” She reached for his hand, but retracted it at the last second; the thought of touching him made her skin crawl. “You’re a vampire.”

“It’s _you_.” Dudley’s blue eyes darkened, nearly black, as he swung his gaze from Harry to her. “You’re what smells so good. Blimey, you smell like mum’s sponge cake.”

He moved, just a small jerk in her direction, but stopped when Draco placed a hand on his chest and moved between her and Dudley. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat; she hadn’t had any time to realize what was happening.

“She’s off limits,” Draco said through his molars, and he pushed Dudley further against the cushion of his chair. “If you even look in her direction again, I’ll kill you myself.”

Hermione watched the exchange, having to poke her head around Draco’s body as it blocked her view of Dudley. He seemed to consider Draco carefully, and didn’t dare bring his gaze to her again. He sniffed, and settled himself into the chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Alright.” Dudley lifted his chin and Draco’s shoulders visibly sagged. “So then, I’m a vampire. What’s that even mean?”

“It means you now live on a diet of plasma, courtesy of the human bloodstream.” Draco withdrew his wand, gave a stiff flick, and a small plastic bag filled with dark, crimson liquid appeared in his hand as if from nowhere. “This is the only Ministry-approved method of consuming blood.”

Dudley pulled a disgusted face and jostled himself away from Draco. “Eugh. The _Ministry_ approves blood drinking? That’s disgusting.”

She heard Draco huff and watched his shoulders straighten. “Minister Shacklebolt has—”

“Minister _who_?” Dudley’s face screwed up. “Our Prime Minister’s name is Macdonald. You have your head in the sand or summit?”

“Potter,” Draco snapped, “I’m going to murder your cousin.”

“Fine by me,” Harry said and shrugged. “Always been a prat. Not likely to change. Now he’s going to be a prat forever, and that’s a terrible plague to set on the world.”  
  
“Harry!” Hermione jumped from her seat behind Draco and scowled at the lot of them. Honestly, men were the reason that the world would devolve into shit, she was convinced of it. “You’re not helping. And we _need_ Dudley if our plan is going to work, so if you could pull your head out of your arse—”

“What plan?” Dudley looked at her, dead in the eyes, and his fangs popped out over his lips. He pointed to them and crossed his eyes to try and see them. “‘The fuck is this?”

“You need to eat.” Hermione’s gaze flicked to Draco and the bag of blood in his hand. “It won’t be so bad once you feed.”

“Load of bollocks,” Draco muttered, but he thrust the bag into Dudley’s waiting hand anyway.

An eerie silence fell over the house as Dudley surveyed the bag in his hand. For all of Draco’s talk of how turning into a vampire was a singularly painful experience, she was surprised that Dudley seemed okay, bar that he winced when the light caught his eyes. Perhaps it was the potions she’d fed him while he was lying in their infirmary, or maybe there was something different between how muggle vampires turned, compared to magical ones. Whatever it was, she felt it warranted more study. If they could make the change easier for future vampires, then it was one step closer to affecting real change for creature rights at the Ministry.

“What’m I supposed to do with that?” Dudley held the bag up to Harry. “You a vampire now, too?”

“No.” Harry pushed his cousin’s hand away and grimaced. “I’m just the lucky sod that gets to explain this to your mum and dad.”

“Shit.” Dudley frowned. “Mum and dad are going to kill me.”

“Or, you could just kill them.” Draco smirked, and Hermione swatted him on the shoulder. “Sorry; perhaps you should just pretend to be on holiday for a while, until we figure out the particulars of your new existence.”

Dudley grumbled before ripping the plastic seal from the bag in his hand. As he caught the scent emanating from the bag, the fact that it contained blood didn’t seem to matter to him anymore; he brought the lip of the bag to his mouth and stared at Draco, eyes as black as onyx. He drank long, greedy pulls from the bag until it was empty. It wasn’t until he was done, and tossed the emptied blood-stained bag to the side, that Hermione realized Draco’s hand was curled like a vice around the arm of the chair.

“Dudley?” Hermione tried to pull his attention away from Draco, but he paid her no notice. “Draco?”

Dudley and Draco were locked in a stare as Hermione turned to Harry slowly. “See if Tracey’s still here? I think she mentioned grabbing some stock from the infirmary before leaving.”

Harry nodded and vanished down the hall. It was Theo that finally broke the tension in the room. He placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder and coaxed him with a gentle nudge. The spell was broken between them. Hermione raised her brows at Draco when he glanced up at her, but he only gave her a slight shake of his head.

“Do you need to eat?” Hermione asked him, noticing a darkness overtaking his eyes.

“I’m fine.” Draco eyed the empty blood bag and squared his shoulders. His fingers plucked the button of his suit, and he pushed himself further back into the chair with his foot raised over his knee. “It’s fine. I took care of that before I came here with his coffin.”

“ _Coffin_ ?” Dudley paled. His finger stretched toward the big, black box in the center of the room. “Crikey, is that for me? You aren’t joking about this vampire business are you? It’s — I’m actually a — a — _thing_.”

“Blood from a bag, you weren’t convinced, but cozy place that blocks the sun and you’re a wreck?” Theo snorted, his eyes rolling to the ceiling as he sat down on the arm of Draco’s chair. “Merlin, and I thought wizards had a bizarre set of priorities, but you muggles with your strange foods and fear of small furniture…”

Hermione hid her small laugh against the back of her hand and used the opportunity that Theo’s intervention had provided to distance herself from both of the vampires in the room. As Tracey and Harry entered, Hermione sat herself down on the edge of the large sofa across the room. Harry gestured for Tracey to sit down, and then joined Hermione on the sofa with his elbows on his knees and fingers in a steeple below his chin. He looked tired, but mostly annoyed, and it plagued his face in the downward turn of his lips and the way his eyes narrowed whenever Dudley glanced in his direction.

“Tracey Davis,” Theo said, breaking through the silence that had once again settled. “This lovely gent to your left is Dudley — er—” his eyes found Harry and he whispered under his breath even though the entire room could hear him, “ _what’s his last name, Potter_?”

“Dursley,” Dudley answered before Harry had the chance. He stuck his hand out to Tracey like a proper gentleman. “‘Mr. Dudley Dursley.”

Hermione had never known Tracey to smile, and she didn’t break this habit as she grasped Dudley’s hand in her own and gave it a firm shake. “Pleasure. So, you’re the new vampire?”

Dudley straightened his shoulders, adjusted his posture so he appeared taller, and adopted a crooked sort of smile that pushed the lines of his dimples deep into his cheek. “I am. And are you, er, one of them, too?”

If Tracey was surprised by the question, Hermione couldn’t tell. She merely shook her head of long, brown hair and withdrew her hand from his. “Just a half-blood, I’m afraid. So, what do you want me to do with him, Potter?” Tracey’s eyes shot toward their sofa. “You don’t expect me to house a newly turned vampire on my own, do you? I do have a life outside of the Order.”

“Oh, I won’t be much trouble,” Dudley said quickly, twisting his torso so that he was facing her straightforward. “I ‘ave a coffin already and I’ve eaten. Can’t be much more to it than that, can there?”

Tracey’s lips pulled up, her perfectly white teeth lined by lips coated in thick, dark red lipstick. Hermione had never seen this sight, not once in all the years she’d known the former Slytherin girl; not around Daphne or Pansy or Theo, or even when Draco put on the ridiculous Malfoy charm — Tracey’s face had _never_ broken into a grin. And yet — 

“Oh, bollocks.” Harry’s hands curled over his forehead and he grabbed chunks of his hair, pulling hard at the roots. He groaned and laughed and Hermione wondered if she heard a sob in the way his chest squeezed all the air from his lungs. “Tell me this isn’t happening, please, for the love of all that’s holy, tell me Tracey bloody Davis did not just smile at my cousin.”

Hermione leaned over and knocked her shoulder against his. “Come on, it’s just a smile, Harry. It’s not like—”

“As a matter of fact, love, there are many things that vampires do differently to muggles and magical-kind.” Tracey scooted herself closer to Dudley and placed her hand on his knee.

Hermione’s eyes couldn’t possibly get rounder, and she glanced about the room to see that everyone else was riveted by the scene as well. Theo’s shoulder knocked against Draco, who watched them with a hand on his chin and a notch between his brows. Harry, to her right, scrubbed his face with his hands and crossed them over his stomach as if he were going to be sick.

“I can show you some of the fun things, if you’d like?” Tracey finished, her finger drawing a small circle on the fabric of his jeans. “I’m quite partial to one trick in particular, but we shouldn’t have an audience for that.”

Dudley’s face, alight with a blush from just having fed, split into the most ridiculous grin Hermione had ever seen. His hand moved over Tracey’s and he circled her fingers in his own. “Sounds brilliant.”

“First he’s a vampire, then he finds a witch.” Harry rested his head against Hermione’s shoulder and let out a quiet groan of frustration. “Petunia and Vernon are going to bloody kill me. And you. They’ll probably burn down the whole world for corrupting Little Dinky Diddydums.”

Hermione prodded Harry in the ribs, a laugh easy and light on her tongue. “Oh, come on Harry. He deserves to find someone who’s not going to judge him for being a vampire. It’s already a hard enough life, don’t make it more difficult with your whinging.”

She glanced up, but was caught by another stare from across the room. Draco’s dark eyes were on hers, and though he’d said he’d fed before coming over to fetch Dudley, there was no blush on his face. Instead, he looked as if he could devour her whole. Her face heated up and, after moments of torturing herself about thoughts of what he could possibly be thinking, she finally pried her eyes away from his. But she could still feel his eyes tracking her movements, down to the very bend of her lips as she spoke.

“I’m glad that you two get along,” she said primly, and tried like hell not to glance to Draco. “But we need to go over the strategy before you leave, and we’ll need to coordinate properly if we’re going to be able to use Dudley effectively.”

“Use me effectively for what?” Though he spoke to Hermione, his eyes didn’t leave Tracey.

Merlin’s beard, did anyone care more about the state of the world than getting their jollies off? Or was it just her? Because, as Tracey and Dudley were lost in a surprising and totally inappropriate heated stare, Harry was trying to press his eyeballs into their sockets with the heels of his hands, and Draco and Theo were leaning over to one another whispering about something she couldn’t hear, and by Godric’s bloody sword, she was, once again, the only person paying attention to the matter at hand.

“Would you all _please_ pay attention!” she exploded, palms slapping the tops of her jean-covered thighs. “I can’t very well win a fight against a muggle vampire on my own, so if you could just hold your personal existential crises and secret plotting and love affairs until after our meeting—”

All eyes turned to her, and she didn’t back down from any of them. She glared, arms crossed over her chest, before she ducked her chin once. Theo glanced at Harry and his lips twitched; they were having one of their frustrating silent conversations again, but she plowed through the moment by cutting her gaze to Draco.

“Dudley and Tracey can stay here tonight. You’re welcome to stay as well.” If her invitation surprised him, Draco made no show of it. Instead, he inclined his chin and toyed with a bit of fabric on the arm of the sofa. She turned to Tracey. “If he’s going to be of any value to us, Dudley will need to integrate with Desdemona’s coven sooner rather than later. I think Draco should remain with you for a little while to help him acclimatize to his role.”

“You don’t think this is moving too fast?” Harry asked, touching her knee to draw her attention to him. “He’s only just turned tonight, and by all accounts he should be trying to murder us all. What if he goes rogue?”

“Then we kill him.” Everyone stilled, and Draco swung his gaze to Dudley with a quirk to his lips. “One rogue vampire spoils the lot. If Dursley can’t play with the other kids, we’ll remove him from the equation and find another avenue.”

“I don’t think—” Hermione started, but was interrupted by Harry.

“Malfoy’s right. If Dudders can’t behave himself, then all we really have on our hands is another bloodsucking menace that’ll destroy everything we’re working to change.”

A sudden movement to her left caught Hermione’s attention and she turned from Harry, whipping him in the chest with her wildly uncontrollable curls. Dudley stood from the sofa, his body strict and tense, and a deep frown tugged his lips down. His eyes were dark and trained on Harry. Theo moved slowly to grab his wand. It appeared to everyone that Dudley was going to attack and the room was poised to take down the new, volatile vampire. But when Dudley spoke, it was quiet and directed at the floor by his feet.

“If you want to kill me, fine. Go on then.” He waved his hand vaguely and then scratched at the back of his neck as he brought his eyes back to Harry, and Harry only. “I know I’m a right prat, alright. Never treated you good an’ all. Felt rather shit about it the last few years, too.” His teeth bit down onto plump and chapped lips, and his attention dropped to the floor again. “An’ I’m sorry, alright. I — I’m just sorry.”

“Everything just got tense,” Theo whispered to Draco, but everyone’s attention remained on the two cousins who were caught in a long, silent stare.

Hermione encouraged Harry to stand, pushing at his arm until he jostled from whatever stupor he’d been in. He crossed one arm over his chest and grabbed at his bicep, rubbing at the bare flesh until it was pink and irritated. He exhaled, and then glanced down to Hermione who nodded her head for him to continue.

“I guess I forgive you,” he sighed, and Hermione kicked him lightly in the calf. “Ow, bloody hell, Hermione. Fine.” Harry stepped closer to his cousin and stuck out his hand. “I forgive you. Let’s start over, yeah?” As Dudley clasped his hand, Harry’s face bloomed with a smile. “As long as I don’t have to join you for Sunday dinners with your parents.”

Dudley chuckled, face split in a dopey grin. He used his other hand to point at the fangs that were still poking out from under his upper lip. “Don’t think I’ll be doing much of that, either, to be honest.”

“Right, now that the warm and fuzzies are out of the way.” Tracey stood from her spot and placed her palm against Dudley’s arm. “We’ll go to mine tomorrow evening, so make sure you get a good kip. I don’t want a moody vampire as a flatmate.”

“This is weird, right?” Harry muttered into Hermione’s ear, and she held in her laugh.

“Really weird,” she agreed out of the corner of her mouth. Then, she clapped her hands together and addressed the room. “Right. Everyone off to bed, and we’ll sort out the rest in the morning. Draco, can you get Dudley set up with his — er, _bed_ , please?” She gestured at the oddly shaped coffin and tried to keep her expression neutral so as not to upset the poor bloke. “Harry and I will review the plans for the upcoming week, and I’ll create a detailed schedule of check-in times that you can take with you tomorrow when you all leave.”

The room broke into quiet motion as everyone began their night time routine. Harry moved to the kitchen, and Tracey took off to the spare bedroom down the hall. Draco levitated the coffin up the stairs and Dudley followed after him. Theo sweeped out of the room, tossing a wink in Hermione’s direction as he went.

“Do vampires sleep at night?” she heard Dudley ask as they disappeared under the cloak of darkness down the hallway up the stairs. 

Hermione took a deep breath and swiped her hands on the rough material of her jeans. The room was finally free of the mounting tension, and her chest loosened as the air around her lightened. Harry returned from the kitchen with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He set them down on a nearby coffee table, poured a healthy amount into each stemmed glass, and lit the fire with his wand.

“Here,” he said, shoving the large glass into her hands and plopping himself down on the small sofa. He tugged at her shirt until she gave in and sat down beside him. “You know, I think we’ll need to distance ourselves from Gawain’s help now that we know he withholds information from us.”

She took a large gulp of her wine and made a noise of assent in the back of her throat. “It’s not very shocking though, is it? There’s so much classified information, they won’t want us to get ahead of them in any investigation. It’s also not very surprising that Draco is his informant — we should have known.”

“Mmhm.” His glass was empty in seconds and he filled it up again. “Speaking of Malfoy—” Harry raised his eyebrows high above the rim of his round glasses and stared her down. “You two were acting strangely tonight.”

“Me and Malfoy have always been really strange, Harry.” Her shoulders lifted in a quick shrug and she held out her empty glass for more wine. He obliged, like any good friend would do.

“Why is that again?” The teasing quality in Harry’s voice didn’t go unnoticed, and she rolled her eyes as she worked on draining her glass a second time.

“Are you really going to make me relive it?” He nodded, and she tossed her head back to the cushion behind her, revelling in the dry sting of the wine as it slid down her throat. “You’re the worst, do you know that?”

“It makes me feel better, knowing that you fell in love with a Slytherin bastard, too.” His grin was impossible over the lip of his glass. “Theo’s not as big of an arse as Malfoy, of course, so that makes me feel even better.”

Hermione smacked him with the back of her hand and set her empty glass on the table. “I wasn’t in love with him! It was only a few dates, and then…”

“He got bitten by a vampire and became a recluse?” Harry supplied for her in that tone that made her think that he really didn’t understand the gravity of the situation at all. He was all stupid smirks and playful eyebrows, and she groaned as she reclaimed her glass and held it out for a third refill. 

“Yeah, guess that about sums it up,” she said, unable to find a better way of putting it. “We hadn’t even gotten to the fifth date.”

“Fifth date?” Harry’s brow rose and he shook the bottle of wine — empty. Bugger it.

Hermione’s eyebrows waggled, attempting to make her best friend uncomfortable. “Fifth. Date.”

Harry’s mouth popped open, lips stained red from the wine. “You make blokes wait until the fifth date? You tease.”

“Yes, Harry, of course I wait until the fifth date to put out. Have you met most men?” Most men _expected_ sex no later than the third date, so she could gauge their true interest by the fifth — and if they _couldn’t_ wait, then they weren’t worth it in her opinion. Hermione had stuck to that strategy, and it had worked out just fine so far, thank you very much.

Harry grimaced into the little swill left in his glass, before tossing it to the back of his throat. “I slept with Theo ten minutes into our first date. And it wasn’t even a first date, so much as a fateful case of being in the same place at the same time.”

“What!” It was Hermione’s turn to stare at him with a slack jaw. “You complete _slag_ , Harry Potter!”

He chuckled and flung his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. His chest rumbled under her ear and she couldn’t help but grin. It was decidedly easy to be best friends with Harry Potter, and she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d do without him in her life. When she lifted her head to tell him so, a short, one-breathed laugh left him.

“I don’t think fighting this thing with Malfoy is going to do you any good, love,” he said. His gaze shifted and settled to a spot beyond her; he seemed to be caught in a staring contest she couldn’t see. “He would have ripped Dudley to shreds tonight for even thinking about getting his hands on you.”

She didn’t answer. Her throat tightened and she put her head back down onto his chest, forcing her heart to slow down. They sat like that for so long, Hermione fell asleep before she even realized that she’d closed her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuous love to mcal and Lunamionny for their endless support and encouragement on this as alpha, beta, and friends. <3
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading, leaving kudos, and/or commenting on this fic. I've had a lot of smiles when I started posting this fic and I'm so glad to have you all along for the ride.


	6. When the Energy Comes

_You come out at night  
That's when the energy comes  
And the dark side's light  
And the vampires roam  
**Building a Mystery, Sarah McLachlan**_  


All things considered, Dudley found Nottingham to be quite lovely this time of year. His skin was naturally cold now, and so the nip in the air felt more like a balmy breeze. The castle was drafty, but he’d never have known it if it wasn’t for the fact that he could see the torchlight flicker with every slight gust of air. He wasn’t at all afraid that those bursts of air were actually the ghosts rumored to haunt the structure. Not at all.

Though, his feet did carry him quickly through the hallways from his coffin room - where his ‘bed’ was locked up tight - and down to the massive ballroom where Desdemona was due to hold a meeting of her Descendants (her term, not Dudley’s). He scurried, only glancing over his shoulder half a dozen times as he rounded corners and slipped through doorways. When he finally reached the open, well lit ballroom, he closed the double doors behind him and snuck to the back of the small crowd that had formed at Desdemona’s feet.

As far as beauty was concerned, his vampire mother (her term, not Dudley’s) was a bombshell — blonde, curvy, long, and lean. She was draped in deep reds with her breasts all but popping out of the low cut top of her expensive, floor length dress. So much of her pale skin was on display; silky arms and creamy legs, and he might have spent too much time staring at the dark crimson pout of her lips and the way her charcoal makeup brought the red hues out in her eyes.

But, really, she wasn’t Dudley’s type. She wasn’t shorter than he was, for one thing, and while the way her blonde hair curled over her shoulders suited her just fine, Dudley considered it second rate compared to the straight brown do that Tracey wore. And Desdemona painted her face to accentuate her natural bone structure, but Tracey didn’t need any of that tosh. No, she was gorgeous without the help of all those creams and powders and whatnot.

“Our coven is growing stronger each day.” Her voice was like a lullaby, its melody sweeping softly through the group of vampires, who were all watching her with rapt attention. Desdemona’s small hands balled into a triumphant fists as she raised them into the air. “The time has come, my children. We must make our mark on this world, lest the others take what’s rightfully ours.”

Dudley wasn’t sure what she was on about, if he were totally honest with himself. Covens and marks, and what did she mean ‘her children’? He found the notion creepy, at best. Petunia and Vernon Dursley were his parents, thank you very much, and he had never much fancied having any siblings; it was why he’d hated Harry for so long, after all. This coven business sounded nothing short of a chore, and it wasn’t long before Dudley found himself zoning out of Desdemona’s speech and watching the vampires around him instead.

He was surrounded by a variety of what appeared to be ordinary people. Dudley knew better, though. They were bloodthirsty revelers, the very worst sort that his parents had always warned him about. And, even worse than that — they weren’t human, but creatures of the night who subsisted on a diet of plasma and human blood. They couldn’t walk in the sunlight, and so their complexions were slowly paling from the lack of sun.

“We will mark the beginning of our rise to power within the British Isles with a Masquerade Ball, held here in our very home!” Her red lips parted to reveal sharp canines protruding from between the rest of her pearly white teeth. “Your task, my kin, is to bring in the citizens of the country to experience our revel. By the end of the night, it is my hope that our coven shall double in size!”

_ Shit _ .

Dudley’s eyes widened and he gazed incredulously around the room as Desdemona came to the end of her speech and dismissed the gathering. His was the only reaction that made any sense; the rest of his coven buzzed excitedly and dispersed from the room in search of their future progenies. Only one thing filled his mind then: find Tracey.

He scoured the halls of the castle for an exit. It was dark, lit only by the scant light provided by the sconces that were affixed to the walls at regular intervals. There were only a limited number of directions he could go, and Dudley knew well enough that he wouldn’t be able to exit the castle from any floor but the ground floor. But, try as he might, he couldn’t find a door leading out into the crisp autumn night. As he pushed through doors that led to kitchens, drawing rooms and one very scary room that had a lot of leather and smelled so potently of blood that his fangs popped from his gums before he could try and quell them, Dudley feared he’d never emerge from the castle. In fact, if he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought it was magic that was keeping him from finding the exit.

But that was ridiculous, of course. Magic couldn’t do such things, and besides, Draco had told him many times in the past fortnight that Desdemona and her vampires didn’t have magic. And why would Draco lie?

Dudley kept on through the castle, shoving through doors he was sure he’d been through before. Every once in a while, he’d come upon a suit of armor he  _ swore _ was watching him as he seemingly went round in circles, but then, that was mental. Suits of armor didn’t  _ watch _ .

“Brother Dursley!” A hand clapped him on the back and the jovial tone of a vampire he’d come to know as Mr. Ian Woon made him pause mid-step. “It appears you may be lost. What is it you’re looking for?”

“Uh, hello.” Dudley scratched the shell of his ear and pulled on the lobe as he tried to figure out the best lie to tell. “I, er… I wanted to head out to town — to Nottingham — to find a progeny.”

“I believe you’ll find that all the best humans have been plucked from Nottingham already, young chap!” Mr. Ian Woon pulled off his wire framed spectacles, that Dudley was certain weren’t needed as a vampire’s vision was sharp and clear, and cleaned the lenses with his plain cotton shirt. “The others have decided to head north in search of fresh blood. I, however, have decided to go west. Perhaps you might want to try the south?”

Dudley blinked, not entirely sure what he was going on about. “And how do I know which way is south, then?”

Ian laughed, thrusting his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. “The others exited the castle that way.” He pointed over his shoulder. “So then, you’ll want the door in that direction.” He pointed toward that bloody suit of armor he’d passed no fewer than six times. “That’s not to say that you’re committed to south if you leave through the southern door, mind you. Perhaps you’d rather come with me to the west? I hear there is a colony of gingers who are simply delectable.”

Dudley shook his head. “Er, no thank you.” He took several steps backwards, keeping his eyes on Ian until the man turned on his heel and clicked his boots to the end of the hallway. When he turned back towards the southern exit that Ian had pointed out, Dudley glanced up to the suit of armor and glared at it.

“Nutter,” he was sure he heard it whisper. 

But it couldn’t have whispered to him. Suits of armor did not  _ whisper _ .

Ian’s directions were spot on, much to Dudley’s relief. A door he was sure he’d tried to exit multiple times — although, frustratingly, he had no way of proving his suspicions — opened to the outside. It was the same road he’d traveled many times in the last two weeks to get to Tracey’s flat, and so he sped through the quaint little village that sat at the foot of the castle, and hailed a taxi to Sheffield.

Once he got to Tracey’s flat, he rapt on the door once. She pulled it open as if she didn’t have a care in the world who would be on the other side, even though she had wizards and vampires amongst her acquaintances. Seeing her was like taking a breath of fresh air. If it were him, and he had someone knocking on his door in the middle of the night, Dudley would have very likely ignored it until they went away. He was thankful, though, that she wasn’t as frightened by the world as Dudley found himself to be.

“Dudley,” Tracey greeted, and stepped aside to allow him in. “You weren’t due to check in tonight. Finally taking me up on my offer?”

If he were a normal bloke with blood flowing through his veins, Dudley would have blushed. No, he hadn’t been able to take her up on the offer she’d given him. Not yet, anyway. And, not because he wouldn’t love to wrap his hands in her hair and snog her within an inch of her life. It was more that he had  _ urges  _ — really dark, wild urges — that made him feel as though he’d lose all his composure and wouldn’t be able to stop himself from hurting her somehow. Even now, he could see the way her pulse thudded in her neck, could hear the thunderous sound of blood rushing through her veins.

He licked his lips as he passed her by, and pointedly stared at the floor as he sat down in her chair. The armchair was safe, the armchair meant she couldn’t sit next to him.

“There’s news,” he said quietly, speaking to his feet.

* * *

It turned out to be a long fortnight for Hermione, with very little news making its way back to Potter Cottage. But, as the universe typically dealt in chaos, it should have been no surprise at all that numerous updates about the goings on of The Order began to flow in, all at the same time. It started on a Saturday night, with Charlie showing up unexpectedly through the floo with a thick roll of parchment clenched in his fist and a frustrated scowl laid deep into his bearded face.

“Those bastards want to eradicate vampires entirely,” Charlie hissed, slamming the roll of parchment onto the War Room table. He unfurled it and pointed at the messy handwriting. “Round ‘em up and toss ‘em into Azkaban until they starve to death. D’you see this?”

Hermione’s eyes roved the words.

_ For magical-kind’s protection — _

_ In an effort to reduce death by exsanguination — _

_ Tagged with a magical tracker —  _

_ Put to death —  _

Her hand covered her mouth as she continued to read. “They can’t be serious! It’s totally barbaric! What is Kinglsey playing at?” She turned to Harry, whose eyes were still scanning the long document. “It’s hardly the vampire’s fault that they were bitten and turned! This is entirely unacceptable, and I have half a mind to storm into the Wizengamot myself and—”

“We can’t do that, Hermione. You know we can’t.” Harry balled his hands into fists and shoved them in his pockets. “We have to fight this the right way, and quickly. Charlie, how long can you stall this bill?”

Charlie ran a hand over his stubble and grimaced. “A week, maybe two? If I can talk Percy into further amending the bill, or if we can find someone to address the Wizengamot to counter and negotiate, maybe a month. But, it’s not going to be easy. There are some very old families sitting for the approval and the attacks have started to affect their bloodlines.”

“You mean Malfoy,” Hermione intoned, crossing her arms over her chest. Charlie nodded and she blinked slowly. “Of course they take drastic action when it’s one of their precious Sacred Twenty-Eight! Dudley’s attack — the muggles that’ve been turned before him — there’s nothing at all in  _ The Daily Prophet _ . It makes me sick.”

Charlie opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a flash of pale blonde hair as its owner pushed her way between them and slammed a copy of  _ The Quibbler _ down on top of the Ministry bill.

**The New Generation of Vampires: An Opportunity**

The headline brought a smile to Hermione’s face. “It’s brilliant, Luna! When does it circulate?”

“Daddy’s printing it now, so we’ll release it at midnight.” Luna turned to Charlie. “Thank you for the interview yesterday, Charles.”

Charlie’s bright blue eyes sparkled down at her. “It was no trouble at all. You’ve kept me anonymous, yeah?”

“Of course.” Luna reached out a hand and let her fingers trail along the freckled skin of Charlie’s arm. “Wouldn’t dream of revealing your identity, though perhaps I might have a few on-record statements that relate to dragons? That  _ is _ your history, isn’t it?”

Charlie watched as Luna’s fingers danced their way from his wrist to his elbow, as if playing dot-to-dot with his freckles, and tilted his head to the side. “It is. Might become my future again if my berk of a brother would stop behaving like a wanker at the Ministry.”

Harry tried to cover his laughter with a cough, but failed. “Percy honestly doesn’t mean any harm.”

“The path to hell, Potter,” Charlie reminded Harry, as he’d done several times when it came to Percy’s role at the Ministry. “He didn’t take too kindly to me asking him to retract several items in the bill after he’d written it, but Luna and I specifically called several facets important to the bill into question.”

“Brilliant.” Hermione grabbed the copy of  _ The Quibbler  _ from the table. “Luna, make sure that this is delivered on the same day as the  _ The Daily Prophet _ , yeah? Order of the Phoenix funds will pay for every magical household to receive a copy.”

“Right.” She ducked her chin, and beckoned Charlie with a crooked finger. “We’ve got a lot of planning to do regarding a follow up article, Charles. Have you got time?”

Charlie followed her like a man under the influence of Amortentia; Hermione could practically see the hearts in his eyes. “Yes, love. All the time in the world for you.”

“Well.” Hermione rolled up the vampire bill and wrapped  _ The Quibbler _ around it. “Couldn’t ask for better timing than that, I suppose. We need to make a move soon, Harry. If this bill is passed, Dudley and Draco and countless others are going to be rounded up like cattle for slaughter.”

“I know.” Harry ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a long breath. “Gawain isn’t happy we haven’t checked in about the vampires in London. George sent a missive this morning — Sanguini is not in London. I checked with Neville, but haven’t heard back.”

“Spooky.” Neville stepped into the room with a massive smile on his face. “Perfect timing, I guess. Got your message, Harry. Hello, Hermione.”

“Hi, Neville.” She lifted a hand in greeting.

“Sanguini was spotted in The Hogs Head last Hogsmeade weekend.” Neville leaned against the round table, crossed his arms and squared his shoulders. “Not out of the norm, mind you. He’s a pretty sociable bloke, but there was a bit of a crowd with him this time.”

“A crowd?” Harry asked, and leaned against the wall opposite Neville.

Hermione’s eyes darted from Neville’s to just over his shoulder. The ‘missing’ wall of the War Room showed the outside world, and walking along the path towards their cottage, in the dead of night, was Theo. He looked annoyed, and she wondered why he’d decided to walk to their door rather than apparate or floo like everyone else.

“Yeah, and someone tried to force open Hogwarts’ gates last night.” Neville laughed. “Didn’t make it far, though. Headmistress McGonagall has had extensive wards in place ever since the alert from the Ministry came out that vampires are growing in numbers.”

“They tried to break into Hogwarts?” Hermione drew her eyes away from Theo as he approached the side of the cottage and moved out of sight. “Who would be that dumb?”

“That’s the thing,” Neville said, “it didn’t seem as if they knew what they were breaking  _ into _ . There wasn’t any damage, and there wasn’t a detectable magical signature. McGonagall thinks they might have been a muggle, of all things.”

“Mu—” Harry’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, scrunching his lightning bolt scar into a small dash.

But he was cut off as Theo’s sardonic voice sliced through the room. “Alecto Carrow was finally spotted.” He breezed into the room with a vicious scowl on his face and perched against the table next to Neville, forcing Hermione to take a step to the side. “Let me rephrase, yeah? Alecto  _ the vampire _ was finally spotted.”

“Vamp—” Neville paled, shadows passing through his eyes as he canted his chin toward Theo and all but begged him to be joking. “She’s horrible. We can let the Ministry kill that one, at least?”

“I’m sorry.” Hermione threw her hands into the air, a gesture that demanded the attention of the others in the room. “Did you just say Alecto Carrow was spotted, as a  _ vampire _ ?”

Theo’s eyes were dark and flicking between her eyes, as if considering her. “For anyone not paying as much attention as Granger here,” he said, turning back to Harry and Neville, “that makes two prominent Death Eaters turned vampire that we know about, and there are a handful of Death Eaters who have been missing for the past year.”

“ _ Former _ ,” Hermione whispered, her mind instantly going to Draco and his predicament. “Former Death Eaters.”

“In Draco’s case, yes. In Alecto’s, no.” Theo conceded, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Thing is, I wonder how many of the former followers of The Dark Lord are going to turn up with a thirst for blood.”

“But that’s mental!” Harry burst out, volleying his gaze around the room as if expecting —  _ willing — _ someone to suddenly shout ‘just joking, mate!’ “Who would want to take Death Eaters and turn them into immortal bloodsuckers?”

The room was silent as they all contemplated that exact question. They were missing a piece, Hermione was sure of it. Something was connected here, but she couldn’t see what it was.

“Oh, good, it’s already a meeting.” Tracey stepped into the room and immediately sidled up to Neville’s other side, rested her bottom against the table, and wrapped one hand around her opposite arm. “Is this what it looks like when we’re not here? You lot just stand around and lean on things looking very serious?”

Her gaze traveled around the room, resting on everyone’s faces before moving on. She chewed something — Hermione assumed gum — and flicked her hair over her shoulder.

“How is Dudley?” Harry asked, breaking the silence. 

Her lips twitched. “Dreadful vampire, mate. Terrible. But, Malfoy has walked him through the finer points of the bloodsucking lifestyle, and the other muggles that Desdemona’s turned are actually quite a bit worse than he is at being a vampire, if that’s possible.”

“I’m sorry.” Hermione turned her entire body towards Tracey, eyes wide. “Did you say  _ the other muggles _ ? She’s turned more?”

Tracey lifted her chin. “Dudley checked in tonight. If the count from him is accurate, she’s got  _ at least _ a dozen living together in her castle.”

“A  _ dozen _ ,” Hermione hissed in disbelief. “Harry — we’re missing something. Death Eaters, muggle vampires, what is it?” Hermione began to pace the room with a finger to her chin and her eyes closed. “Bugger. We’re missing something.”

She rested her hand against her forehead, and muttered to herself about Sanguini, Desdemona, and various facts they knew about vampires. She paid no attention to where she was walking, circling the room and expecting everyone to move out of her way as she paced and paced and paced.

“I think your muggleborn is broken, Boy Wonder,” Theo whispered, but it was loud enough to pull her attention back to the room.

“No, she does this when she’s thinking things through.” She could hear the smile in Harry’s voice. “Hermione, what is it?”

She remembered it so vividly, the last time wizards and muggles alike went missing. She would never forget the fear that crackled through the air in magical communities and muggle villages. It had been war then, and she was sure that it was war now.

“We need Draco,” she admitted quietly, finally opening her eyes to see, of all things, a pair of dark gray ones staring back at her from only a foot away.

“Hello, Granger.”

“Draco?” It was as quick as a breath — the surprise of seeing him coupled with the relief that he’d shown up. “What are you doing here?”

“Tracey sent her Patronus.” He greeted Tracey with a curt nod and then moved away from Hermione to the opposite side of the room, with his arms crossed over his chest. “Seems we have a bit of an opportunity.”

“What sort of opportunity?” Harry asked. He pulled out a chair at the table and deposited himself into it like a haphazard lump.

The rest of the room followed suit, and while they were all staring at Draco and waiting for him to divulge whatever information he had, Draco stared relentlessly at Hermione with stormy eyes and quirked lips.

“Desdemona is throwing a masquerade ball,” Tracey said as she leaned back in her chair. “Dudley’s able to bring a guest and he thinks that, with the number of vampires present, Draco can show up with a familiar on his arm.”

“A  _ familiar _ ?” Theo’s eyes flicked between his two former Slytherin friends, and then followed Draco’s gaze straight to Hermione. “Oh. Well, what could  _ possibly  _ go wrong?”

Hermione knew exactly what could go wrong… but, as the table broke out into a round of arguments both for and against her joining Draco in a coven of vampires to gather intelligence, Hermione stayed silent, unable to tear her stare away from the one that hadn’t relinquished its hold on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited for what's to come and hope that you're enjoying as much as I am! :) Shout outs continue for my dream team, mcal and Lunamionny, who keep me in check and make me better. <3


	7. As the Sun Descends

_Come on now, try and understand  
The way I feel under your command  
Take my hand, as the sun descends  
They can't hurt you now  
**Because The Night, 10,000 Maniacs**_

  
  


The idea wasn’t ‘bloody idiotic’ as Harry had said, nor was it ‘fucking genius’ as Tracey had said. It lay somewhere in between, and as the center of said idea, Hermione was fairly certain that the plan, while filled with merit, was one doused in a generous splash of spontaneity. But, they couldn’t miss this opportunity, and she had to bite back her misgivings over the entire plan. She was going to a vampire’s castle, on Draco Malfoy’s arm, and everyone was just going to have to bloody square with it.

Or, so she’d told Harry.

It was only an intelligence gathering mission. Nothing more.

“Do you even own anything that would pass for a formal ball gown?” Theo asked her. She wasn’t too pleased with the skeptical — and definitely judgemental — look in his eyes. “All you wear are jumpers and jeans, and frankly, I don’t even know if your bosom can handle the gentle curve of evening wear.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed and she placed her hands on her hips. Theo thumbed through her wardrobe, tutting and every once in a while tilting his head as if considering something, before quickly dismissing it with a huff.

“If you’re going to be an arse, I don’t think I want your help.” She marched over to him and pushed him out of the way with her hip. “My clothes are just fine, thank you. I can’t help it if I’m the conservative sort.”

“Yes, well.” Theo stood back and placed a hand to his chin as he looked her up and down. “I think we can work with—“ his hand gestured towards her person, “this. Do you have a color preference, or do you only wear gray?”

She was going to strangle him with her bare hands. Hermione gritted her teeth. “I wear colors. I like green.”

Theo’s eyes, which had been filled with vague disdain, sparkled as his lips quirked. “Green? Of the emerald variety? My, my, my, love, never thought I’d see the day that a Gryffindor would be outfitted in a sophisticated Slytherin-toned gown, but—”

He pulled an old silk shirt from her wardrobe and tossed it onto her bed. He gave his wand a flick and swish, and suddenly the old shirt transformed into something much thicker, much longer, and far more elegant than she’d ever worn. Theo held it up to her body and stood back to survey his work. He flicked his wand again and the bust of the dress split down the middle, while silver stitching decorated the seams.

“Please tell me you own heels, otherwise I’m going to pitch myself out your bedroom window,” he said as he thrust the dress into her hands. “Earrings, a necklace – something teardrop –  and then perhaps we can think of what on earth to do with that rat’s nest you call hair.”

Hermione chased him from her room, kicking her foot at his arse the entire way out of the door. It wasn’t until it shut behind him that she took a proper look at the dress. She wasn’t even sure she owned a bra that would allow her to wear such a revealing garment, and to be quite frank, Hermione was fairly certain that whatever hormone-fueled fairy godmother-like tangent Theo had been on when he created the dress, it had the intention of making her feel as uncomfortable as possible as she twirled around in a coven of vampires.

But, Hermione wasn’t an aristocrat; she preferred jeans to skirts and a messy bun to silky curls and old comfortable jumpers to low cut blouses. It took her all of five minutes alone with the dress and the heels and the jewelry to realize she was in way over her head. She swung her bedroom door open and found Theo leaning against the frame with a smarmy smirk on his face.

“Tell me you were wrong.” His voice held a sing-song lilt to it as he pushed himself past the threshold of her room, and then spun on his heels to face her again.

Hermione sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Must we do this every time you’re better at something than I am?”

“Indubitably.” He nodded, not in one sharp, jerky motion, oh no. It was exaggerated and slow, and his eyes never left hers for a second. “Otherwise you’ll forget that, while you’re the Brightest Witch of the Age, there’s another excessively brilliant wizard around to give you a run for your galleons, who also has the fashion sense of a young Coco Chanel.”

She couldn’t stop the laugh that left her, and her entire body relaxed. “How do you even know who Coco Chanel is? She’s an old muggle.”

“Wrong.” Theo lifted her dress and walked it over to her. “Coco is a witch, and you need to strip so that I can see what I’m working with.”

* * *

Eons had passed since Hermione had been locked in a small bedroom with Theo for company. It surprised everyone that she hadn’t hexed him within an inch of his life, but no one more so than Harry who greeted Theo at the end of the hallway with a tight smile and cautious optimism.

“You look unscathed,” he observed, fingers reaching for Theo’s wrist and dragging him close. “You’re like my own personal Hermione Whisperer.”

Theo stood taller than him, a fact that he’d never allow Harry to live down in any situation in which height was an advantage. Reaching for the tallest shelf in the cupboard, changing light bulbs in the highest fixtures, the way his hands could wrap around Harry’s shoulders when they enjoyed their favorite positions in bed. But it was moments like this when Harry enjoyed the difference in height. As they stood wrapped in each other, Harry could press his lips to Theo’s neck, enjoy the way his heart beat in his throat against Harry’s ear, and relish in the pressure of Theo’s chin against the top of his head.

“She thinks she’s scary,” Theo chuckled, sending vibrations through Harry as he tugged him even closer against his lithe body. “The trick is to treat her like any predator; show no fear and don’t back down.”

“Isn’t that how we ended up together?” he murmured against Theo’s neck with a smirk on his lips. “You didn’t back down. Did you treat me like a predator?”

Theo’s hand slid up Harry’s spine and into his hair where it curled around the roots and gently encouraged his head to tilt back so their eyes met. “In no way were you the predator in our little fairytale, Boy Wonder.”

Whatever Harry had been about to say — and there was a lot flashing through his mind, none of which lacked a filthy undertone — was cut off as Hermione’s bedroom door shut loudly. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floors as she made her way down the hallway to where Harry and Theo stood embracing each other. 

Harry’s jaw dropped as his gaze found Hermione’s emerald-clad body, which was snugly fit inside a dress that made even him blush. There was thin fabric on the shoulders, but no fabric down the middle of her chest, as it rounded the swells of her breasts and reached just above her navel. The dress was floor length and fit close, showcasing her curves and edges, all the way down to the strappy, silver heels on her feet that peeked through the slit running to her mid thigh. And, if the provocative dress wasn’t enough to stun him into absolute silence, the state of her hair certainly was.

It reminded him of the Yule Ball, the way the frizz was tamed. But Theo had left the dark curls and voluminous ringlets to frame her chin. It looked natural, the way he’d pinned the back of it up and off of her neck so that the shiny, thin necklace that hung delicately against her skin forced his eyes to take in the slope of her shoulders and dip of her clavicle.

When Harry glanced up to Theo and saw the deep, dimpled smirk embedded in his cheek, he knew the exact reason that he’d spent any time at all giving Hermione the makeover of a lifetime.

Draco was going to lose his ruddy mind when he saw her.

The magical moment was ruined when Hermione’s heel caught on the floor and she was propelled forward with flailing arms, trying desperately to find purchase somewhere. It was Harry’s reflexes that caught her — his seeker skills still very much useful after all these years — and he huffed a laugh as she grumbled and extricated herself from his arms.

“This is ridiculous. I feel ridiculous.”

“You look gorgeous.” Harry pushed a chunk of her curls away from her cheek and smiled down at her as she righted her dress. Theo smacked his hand away. “Oi!”

“Don’t ruin my masterpiece, Potter.”

* * *

  
  


Everything about it was uncomfortable. That she wasn’t fully covered and, actually, had more flesh on display than if she’d been wearing a swimming costume. The way pins tugged at the roots of her hair. The heavy necklace that laid against her sternum. The makeup that wasn’t as ‘breathable’ as Theo had promised. And the earrings, Merlin, it felt as if she’d gradually sink down to the floor from the weight of them if she wasn’t careful.

Surely this wasn’t beauty. It was uncomfortable and miserable and — 

Cloudy gray eyes caught hers from across the room, and she lost all the breath from her lungs. His incisors poked into his bottom lip and she expected to see blood, but instead his tongue swept along the tips and his hands fisted by his sides.

She could relate to his obvious discomfort with the situation, even if his eyes did find hers and pinned her to the spot as if he had all the confidence in the world.

Draco stood in a dapper suit, silky black and embroidered with the same silver stitching that lined the hem of her dress. His emerald tie was in a perfect windsor knot at his throat. She watched it bob under the force of his swallow, and the tick of her heart soared to a manic beat.

Perhaps the worst thing was that she wasn’t worried about being human in the middle of a vampire coven, but that she was going to be in such close proximity to Draco the entire night and she wasn’t certain that she could ignore the thrum of desire that was sweeping through her.

Draco held out his elbow to her in a gesture for her to take his arm despite the fact that she was still across the room from him. He made no move to get any closer to her. Hermione was frozen to the spot, carefully laying out plans to avoid falling into the trap of becoming charmed by him. She’d failed in that once before, so long ago, and she didn’t think her heart could ever recover if she did it again. The plan to survive the night: no eye contact, definitely no looking at his lips, only touching when absolutely necessary, Hogwarts appropriate dances only, and do  _ not _ get swept up in his flirtatious banter.

She kept her eyes glued to a space just over his shoulder, and nervously fidgeted with the fabric at her hip. Slight pressure on her back prompted her feet to move. Harry whispered her name, an urgent encouragement for her to walk to Draco. One foot at a time, slowly in front of the other. Small breaths in and out. Her heart thudded wildly and her legs were like jelly.

A slick smile lifted one corner of his lips as she wrapped her hand into his elbow. It had taken her five seconds for her plan to go to shit.

“Granger.” His dark eyes flicked over the top of her head, and his chin dipped slightly before he finally brought his gaze back to her. “Do I have to warn you not to do anything spectacularly Gryffindor tonight?”

The insult jolted her out of the stupor she’d been in, and she narrowed her eyes at him while stepping to his side. “No point in asking you not to do something spectacularly  _ Slytherin _ ,” she grumbled as he took a slight step forward, “a runespoor never changes its stripes.”

Draco turned toward her and clasped his hand around her other elbow, drawing her to him. Potter Cottage disappeared with a sharp crack, and the world around her popped with color before it went eerily black. They suddenly appeared on a quiet path in the middle of a dense forest, the echo of their apparation giving scare to the creatures that dwelt in the trees around them.

“Before we forget,” Draco turned to her and withdrew something from his coat pocket. A silver mask decorated with snakeskin and emerald gems stared back at her. His lips quirked. “Masquerades generally require masks.”

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered as she plucked it from his hand and held it up to her face. It covered her eyes only and sat perfectly against her cheeks. “Theo’s idea?”

As he covered half of his own face with a simple silver mask, he shook his head. “An old heirloom from the manor. Mother loves a carnival.”

Her fingertips traced the edge of her mask, over the slope of the cheek and the hard gemstones. “Your mother has good taste.”

“Never tell her that,” he said and snorted as he held his elbow out to her once more. “She’ll be insufferable for the rest of time.”

Draco’s head turned to the side and his eyes peered into the distance behind them. Instinctively, she followed his gaze. Behind them was the outline of a small village, and in front of them was a gothic castle that looked as though it should be condemned. The exterior had ivy crawling over it, so much so that Hermione could barely see the stone surface of it underneath all the green. The peaky spires stood out in the night sky and as they moved closer to the castle, she noticed a gargoyle perched on the roof near the gutters. As they drew nearer, Hermione swore that the eyes followed them up the path to the gate.

It wasn’t until they reached the gate, where two guards stood with stoic expressions and their hands resting against shiny objects held at their hips, that Hermione realized she was still holding onto Draco’s arm. She let it go on their final steps, and the guards moved to block the gate.

“Invitation.” The burly man demanded with a notch between his furry brows. He held his hand out at them expectantly.

Draco reached into his coat and withdrew paper with calligraphy scrawled across it. He placed it into the guard’s hand and waited as he surveyed the paper with the utmost scrutiny. The guard glanced to his counterpart, gave a stiff nod, and they both moved from the path. The gate before them swung open, and Draco guided her through it with his hand on the small of her back.

“Don’t look back,” he murmured, picking up the pace of his steps and ignoring the fact that, in her heels, Hermione was struggling to keep up with his quick strides. “I knocked that one out before I brought Potter’s cousin to you.”

Despite the fact that she was at risk of falling over her own feet, Hermione’s steps hastened all the way to the tall, black double doors of the castle, doors that opened as if they sensed their approach. Whatever it was she’d been expecting to see inside didn’t come close to the reality. The dilapidated appearance of the castle on the outside was powerfully deceiving; Hermione was certain it was in order to keep anyone from finding out about the beauty that the castle held inside.

A grand entrance hall greeted them, along with a butler. He bowed as they passed him by. The high ceilings, elaborate paintings encased in thick golden frames and rich mahogany furniture dotted about the room, gave Hermione the feeling that the vampire who owned this place was most definitely wealthy. No wonder Malfoy seemed to feel at home, he was not bothering to take in any of the grandeur at all and, instead, was ushering her along a plush red carpeted path to a vast ballroom.

It was unlike anything Hermione had ever seen. Even the Ministry galas held after the fall of Voldemort didn’t compare. It wasn’t hard to spot the vampires; they moved so gracefully through the crowd and stayed close to the humans that accompanied them, possessively close. She noticed Draco had also moved closer to her, and when she glanced at him, she found his eyes had darkened and were staring around the room as if someone was going to try and fight him.

“Relax,” she told him quietly, resting a hand on his arm. When his eyes dropped to hers, a breath hitched in her chest. His eyes were almost black; gone was the stormy gray she was used to. “Draco, are you alright?”

“Fine.” The word was growled through clenched teeth, as he maneuvered them through the room toward a woman in a sleek, black dress and white mask. He grabbed a drink from the tray she carried and handed it to Hermione. “Drink for me, please. And don’t go wandering off.”

She tipped the flute back and sipped once. The drink tasted of melon and was fizzy like champagne. “What’s going on with you? You need to loosen your grip on my waist.”

His fingers unfurled from her hip, but he didn’t put any space between them. “Something about this is wrong. Too many vampires, not enough human blood to go around.”

“Why don’t we dance? Get a feel of the landscape and maybe get eyes on Desdemona.” Hermione tugged on his hand, to urge him toward the dance floor where at least a dozen couples were spinning to the lively rhythm of a string quartet. “You need to calm down. You’re drawing attention to us.”

It was true. As they made their way toward the musical ensemble, eyes turned to watch them. It wasn’t until Hermione saw a familiar face that her shoulders relaxed. Dudley, wearing a charcoal suit and matching mask, rushed over to them with Tracey on his arm.

“Hullo.” She noticed Dudley’s cheeks were filled with color, and for vampires that typically meant that they’d recently fed. Next to him, Tracey waved.

“Dudley, Tracey,” Hermione lifted her chin, putting a small smile on her face. “You look well. Things are okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dudley replied. “Shouldn’t stay and chat too long, ya know. Have to keep up appearances ‘n all that.”

If Hermione was worried that she was baring too much skin, seeing Tracey had put that fear to rest. She wore a short, bright pink dress, black stockings and tall, shiny black heels. The dress clung to every part of her; from the halter over her breasts down to the skirt that barely covered the curve of her bum. But what shocked Hermione more than anything, was that the hair that Tracey always wore down around her shoulders was pulled back, revealing two fresh fang marks on her neck.

If Tracey didn’t want to draw attention to herself, she wasn’t doing a very good job.

“Just a quick second, love,” Tracey said, running a placating palm down the side of Dudley’s arm. He was absolute putty; Hermione could practically see the cartoon heart-eyes exploding from his sockets. “Everything alright, Granger?”

“You let him… do that?” Hermione couldn’t stop staring at the fang marks. So many questions, both biology and ethics, raced through her mind. But then, she had wondered why so many of the so-called ‘familiars’ here had those same marks. Suddenly, she realized that she might be in way over her head.

“Such a spoilsport.” Tracey offered her a rare smile, and ran a manicured finger down the side of Dudley’s face. “You’re missing out on one hell of a good time if you don’t allow him to take a nibble.”

“A nibble?” Hermione’s hand moved to her throat, and she swallowed around glass. “No, I don’t think that’s something I care to do.” Her eyes swiveled to Draco and she frowned. “I don’t want you to do that to me, do you understand?”

Draco’s voice, so close to her ear, broke her escalating panic. “This isn’t  _ that  _ kind of party,” he whispered. The words were all she needed to draw her eyes away from Tracey’s bite marks to Draco’s eyes, before glancing at his lips, where she knew his fangs were hiding. “And I won’t ever bite you without your permission.”

“Why would I ever give you permission to bite me?” Hermione asked breathlessly, trying to summon her courage in order to look into his eyes again. “We aren’t intimate with one another. Not anymore.”

Every ounce of pain she’d felt over the last year flooded into her eyes, threatening to ruin her makeup and spill onto her cheeks.

“Have to go,” Dudley said, breaking through the tension with his keen tone. “Des is out — she’ll make her rounds, checking on the familiars to make sure they all fit with the coven. Suggest whatever you do, you do it before midnight.”

“Midnight?” Hermione asked, forcing a gulp down her throat.

“That’s when she’s ordering the coven to turn their familiars.” Dudley looked to Tracey with nothing but sheer devotion in his eyes. “We’ll be heading to Tracey’s flat after we see Des. If you’re smart, you’ll meet us there soon.”

“Thanks.” Draco nodded once, and his fingers dug into her side once again. “Granger, we have work to do before things turn bloody. Let’s get started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned how flipping amazing my alpha/beta team is? mcal and Lunamionny deserve all my praise for being so wonderfully supportive and encouraging, and helping me to polish this story. <3
> 
> Happy holidays, everyone! :D


	8. Breathe In So Deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to take a moment before the chapter to say thank you so much for the love on this story! I appreciate every read, kudo, and comment so much. I'm woefully behind on answering reviews/comments because of the holidays, but I will make an effort to respond to them all as soon as possible. You all make me smile so much and I appreciate it! <3

_So breathe in so deep  
Breathe me in, I'm yours to keep  
And hold on to your words cause talk is cheap  
And remember me tonight when you're asleep  
**Fall For You, Secondhand Serenade**_

  
  


A soft melody floated through the air around them. Hermione was so close to Draco that she was sure he could hear the thundering of her heart as it beat a staccato rhythm in her throat. In heels, her eyes were level with Draco’s nose, and if she looked down just a smidge — and against her better judgment — she could see the soft swell of his upper lip where his canines hid underneath. She vaguely wondered if he’d been able to retract them for even a short while since that start of the evening. If not, part of her hoped that she was the reason, but then after seeing the marks Dudley had left on Tracey, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be.

Their clasped hands were held at her eye level, while his free hand rested against her shoulder blade. She couldn’t stop her fingers from curling into his shoulder as he began to move forward, leading her into a smooth waltz. The instrumental music played as if only for them.

“Have you spotted her yet?” Draco asked, as he whisked her to the left, and Hermione cursed silently as she realized he was a much more accomplished dancer than her; she couldn’t claim any skill at all. “Don’t—” he pulled her even closer, her chest pressed to his, which jolted her back from peering at the dancers around them. “How are you this terrible at spying? Wait until we get to the natural turn.”

And so they did. Hermione’s eyes narrowed at his nose as he gracefully maneuvered them around the floor, turning her gaze naturally around the room. “It would help if I knew who I was looking for,” she muttered, ruling out various couples as they twirled and swayed around her. “Do you know how many blonde females are in this room?”

It was true. Though there was certainly variety within the sea of attendees, there were at least half a dozen blondes sprinkled throughout different corners of the room. If Hermione could only find the one who looked timeless — 

“Find the red eyes,” Draco said, moving them around in another three quarter circle, and Hermione let loose a sharp breath.

Impossibly tall and draped in the most beautiful, bright red satin, Desdemona easily stood out in the crowd. Hermione wasn’t sure how she’d missed her before then, the woman drew attention to herself as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Her hair was piled high in ringlets on her head, and her full, stained crimson lips were framed white teeth and sharp canines. Everything about her, including her eyes, was accented in red. She was surveying the room and before their eyes could meet Hermione brought her gaze to Draco’s and found him studying her face.

“Got her.” Hermione’s fingers clenched around the muscle of his bicep, as her lips pulled up in a celebratory smile. “Take us three paces to the left and then as far away from the band as we can get.”

His tongue darted out and wet his bottom lip. He blinked, and the darkness in his eyes cleared away, leaving sparkling gray in its wake. “I forgot how bossy you are.” His lips twitched and his face moved closer to hers as he led them to exactly where as she’d commanded. “Merlin, I’ve missed it.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, her stomach knotting as his words echoed around her mind. Before she could dwell on them for too long, Draco turned them again so that she was facing Desdemona, whose sharp, crimson nails were tracing a line down the neck of a human girl hanging off the arm of a dark skinned vampire.

“Well, it wasn’t me who ended whatever it was between us,” Hermione whispered, and took the lead of the dance in order to follow Desdemona, who was now walking, as if on air, to another vampire and her familiar. “I don’t understand what she’s looking for. She touches them, and then moves on to the next.”

“ _ Whatever it was _ ?” Draco hissed through his teeth and held her hand tighter in his. “Surely even you can’t be that obtuse, Granger. Bloody hell, it’s not like I said ‘alright, been fun, toodles.’ I had a very good reason for ending the affair we were having.”

“Affair!” Hermione pulled back and craned her neck to glare at him with pinched lips. She stopped moving along with him, forcing him to stand still. “We didn’t even get to the fifth bloody date, you tosspot!”

Their heated exchange drew the attention of the crowd around them. Crimson nails, which were embedded into long, slender and pale fingers, curled around Draco’s shoulder. Hermione swallowed hard around a knot in her throat.

Desdemona’s smile lifted her porcelain cheeks. She blinked her eyes innocently as she slowly tugged Draco back and away from Hermione’s hold. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of making an acquaintance,” she said sweetly, her voice a low timber that Hermione hadn’t been expecting. “I am the leader of this coven, Desdemona. And, you are…?”

Hermione was removed from the dance floor with Draco’s hand around her waist. She stared at his tight, expressionless face and tried to mimic it by schooling her features, so as to not reveal the nerves that were threatening to spill all over the floor at their feet.

A flute of sparkling liquid was shoved into Hermione’s hand and she latched onto it tightly as she stepped closer to Draco’s side. He bowed in front of the vampire, took her hand in his and placed a delicate kiss on the back of it.

“Draco Malfoy,” he said, affecting a regal lilt. “And this is my darling familiar, Miss Astoria Greengrass.” Not reacting to her sudden change of identity was nearly impossible for Hermione. She opened her mouth, but Draco pushed the flute of champagne to her lips. “I received an invitation from one of your—”

“Children,” Desdemona supplied as if she expected one of them to object to the term. “Much like normal human children with their mothers, my subjects love me unconditionally. It’s part of the charm of being a sire.”

“Of course. You’ll forgive me,” Draco replied kindly as his shoulders straightened and he placed his hand around Hermione’s back as she drank the melony liquid. “My sire abandoned me quite early on in my transformation. I woke up alone and hungry.”

“And look at you now.” A nail dragged down the side of Draco’s face before Desdemona moved her gaze to Hermione’s face and down the expanse of exposed flesh between her breasts. “You’ve found a familiar who aims to please, judging by the dress she chose for you tonight.”

And then she was gone, moving through the crowd as if she were floating on air. Graceful and perfectly poised. Hermione watched her until she was enveloped in a crowd of love from her ‘children’ and their familiars, before placing the half finished drink in her hand onto a passing tray.

“Something is so off about her,” she told Draco, finally able to breathe again. He stared down at her, his eyes drifting from where her dress split on her stomach, up past the valley of her breasts to the slim silver chain that laid against her clavicle. His gaze continued to the pulse that raced wildly in her throat, to her pink painted lips, before finally settling on her eyes. “Draco?”

“Is all of this for me?” His voice was raspy and low. He stepped towards her with his hands on her upper arms, lightly stroking up and down. Hermione dropped her gaze again — yes, and no, she thought — but he brought her focus back to him with a gentle knuckle to her chin. “Hermione. Tell me if this is for me.”

Hermione felt feverish. Warmth bloomed in her chest and flushed quickly up her throat and to her cheeks. It didn’t escape her notice that Draco’s eyes dipped and followed her blood’s path. She shook her head, muttering something about Theo the fairy godmother and his silly ideas, but the words were disjointed and breathless. Clearly, she hadn’t fooled him, because Draco’s lips broke into the most wicked smile and he lowered his face toward hers.

“I’ve never known you to go along with something unless you absolutely want to,” he reminded her almost playfully. His eyes held her captive as they flicked over her face and back to her throat again. “Your pulse is like a hummingbird’s wings — fuck, I can smell the blood pooling in your cheeks.”

His lips were so, so close to hers and her eyes fluttered shut. She was enraptured by his spell, the night, and his words, which went against her whole plan for the night. She’d failed spectacularly. But for the moment, as his hand moved to her neck and his fingertips tickled the hairs at the base of her skull, she was going to allow it. Merlin, she missed his touch and the way he always looked at her as if she were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“We should send a Patronus to Potter,” he whispered, rather than kissing her as she’d been expecting — hoping. He pulled away and when she caught his eyes again they stole her breath away. Sheer black and blown wide. “The scent is getting powerful here; it’s only a matter of time before one of these newer vampires won’t be able to control themselves.”

“I’ll go to the ladies’.” Blinking slowly, and breathless, Hermione pulled away from Draco’s touch and wet her lips. “If anyone sees the magic, it’ll cause a riot.” She turned towards the bathroom and then pivoted back around when she felt Draco at her back. She raised a hand and shook her head. “You just… you stay here. I can use a toilet on my own.”

She moved as fast as she could in her strappy heels, cursing Theo Nott and his ‘pain and fashion go hand in hand’ lecture the entire way to the toilet. Pulling her wand from its confines against her outer, upper thigh, Hermione hid in one of the stalls and cast her Patronus.

_ We’re going to need backup, Harry. Send the Order now; we have to make a move tonight. _

The little blue, translucent otter flounsed through the air of the toilet cubicle and through the solid door. Hermione took a moment to collect herself. She laid the back of her hand against her forehead and swore. It was hot to the touch and she was starting to feel shaky — she was running a fever of some kind. She flushed the toilet with the bottom of her shoe, pretending that she’d actually used it for its intended purpose, and strode from the room to find Draco.

When she entered the ballroom once more, she saw Draco with stiff shoulders and his eyes on her. It wasn’t until she made it over to him that he seemed to relax slightly.

“Is it hot in here to you?” she asked upon her approach, her hand moving to her throat as if she could somehow make the temperature more comfortable by rubbing the skin there. “I think I might be getting sick.”

Her hand seemed to drag Draco’s attention to her neck along with it and she felt hotter still. “Stop drawing attention to your neck,” he muttered quietly, and reached out for her hand before promptly dragging her back to dance. “Did you get the message off to Potter?”

Hermione nodded and fell into step with him as they waltzed slowly. She stepped on his feet a handful of times, but he didn’t seem to care, carrying on despite the fact she was struggling to keep up with him. “I told him what’s happening. We have to shut it down tonight, Draco. These poor people…”

“Scarhead will get here in time to help,” Draco promised her, and shifted his body so that he was pressed closer to her. “We can’t do much of anything until The Order arrives, might as well enjoy it while I can.”

The hand on her shoulder blade moved down to the small of her back and encouraged her to step further towards him. She didn’t fight it, and welcomed his proximity. His face lowered closer to hers.

“Draco…” Hermione said his name in a long, breathless plea. Her face flushed again and she felt a burning heat where his hand was planted on her back. “Something’s wrong.”

He brought the hand clasped in his down to his shoulder and placed his hand on her cheek. “This isn’t wrong, Hermione,” he said quietly. There was only a scant bit of space between their lips. “I was wrong to stop it. I shouldn’t have—”

Draco moved to press his lips to hers, but Hermione turned her face away. It didn’t seem to deter him at all, and instead he ran the tip of his nose down her chin and over the pulse on her throat. Her stomach tightened as his breath ghosted across her skin, sending tingles skittering along the length of her spine. Her hand squeezed his shoulder.

She wanted him, wanted this. Hermione tilted her neck to the side, exposing it for him. 

“Draco — please,” she asked when his lips finally pressed against the soft skin on the underside of her jaw.

His hand tightened on the other side of her neck, tipping it more, and he ran the sharp point of his fang lightly over the erratically thumping pulsepoint. “I can’t stop. I can’t — fuck, I want this so bad, but—” Draco’s grip was so rough, she thought he might break her, and she didn’t have the presence of mind to stop him. “Something’s wrong. You were right, I can’t—”

A piercing scream cut him off.

Draco lifted his head and then went utterly still. That’s when Hermione saw it. A tall man on his knees, blood spurting from between his fingers as they clutched uselessly at his neck. In the next second, the nearest vampire ducked his face down to the man’s neck and claimed the blood for his own. But, it was too late. Pandemonium reigned as people shouted, heels clicked against the floor, vampires growled, and Draco finally let his grip on Hermione loosen and moved to tuck her into his side.

Vampires chased their human familiars to the nearest exit. But the doors had been locked. They fought to escape, banged on the door, and cried for help. Hermione brandished her wand and made to run forward, but Draco grabbed her elbow to stop her.

“I can’t just let them die, Draco!” Hermione shouted as she watched the humans, one by one, succumb to the whims of their vampires.

Hermione yanked her elbow free from Draco’s grip and, with her wand whipping over her head, dashed to help the muggles. But it wouldn’t matter what she did, she couldn’t possibly save them all. A second burst of magic appeared alongside hers, and relief flooded her as Draco tried to stun the vampires and staunch the bleeding of the muggles who seemed to be drowning in a pool of their own blood.

“Unlock the doors,” she barked at Draco, pointing her wand between a vampire’s eyes and stunning her. “I don’t have any Blood Replenisher on me. I don’t think I can save them. Unlock — the bloody — doors!”

Following her command, Draco took a step away from her. As soon as his back was to her, someone grabbed Hermione’s wrist and yanked her to the side of the room. Before she could react, teeth sank into the veins of her wrist, leaving two great puncture wounds in its wake. Then the vampire suddenly collapsed to the ground and Hermione pulled her wrist to her chest, only to find Draco standing and staring back at her from just beyond the fallen body of her attacker.

His eyes were blacker than onyx, blown wide as they zeroed in on the blood pouring from her wrist. She made to take a step back, but swayed on the spot instead, woozy and still so, so overcome with heat. She took a breath, tried to say his name, but her visioned blackened at the edges and she was sure she was going to faint.

As her legs buckled underneath her, Draco’s arms wound round her waist. He took a step forward, turned them on the spot, and, with a deafening crack, they disapparated from the castle. 

As the world went black around her, Hermione succumbed to the pull of unconsciousness.

* * *

Draco landed on his knees in the middle of Tracey’s tiny living room with Hermione limp in his arms. It had been the first place he’d thought of — at least thought of clearly enough for a successful disapparation — probably due to Dursley’s comment earlier in the evening about meeting them there. His signature must already be attuned to Tracey’s wards, though he hadn’t known that until he opened his eyes to see her staring back at him.

Her lips quirked at the corners.“Couldn’t resist?”

  
He bared his fangs at her, a growl rising at the back of his throat. “One of Desdemona’s  _ children _ did this,” he spat, lips forming an angry scowl. “I need Blood Replenishing Potion, gauze — whatever you keep on hand.”

“Which is exactly nothing.” Tracey stood and waved her wand over her sofa, transforming it into a makeshift bed. Draco lifted Hermione onto it and turned back to Tracey. Draco fleetingly noticed Dursley standing by an armchair, gaping uselessly at the scene. “I don’t stock anything here, I don’t need to.”

“Fuck. Can you floo headquarters?” Draco pulled his wand out of his pocket and waved it over Hermione’s prone body. The simple diagnostic he performed showed only blood loss and vampire venom.

“No can do,” Tracey said with a shrug. “No floo.”

Draco bit into his fist and swore against his skin. “Apparate to Potter Cottage. Get supplies. We’ll stabilize her here and then when she’s able to, I’ll apparate her there.”

Tracey saluted him, looped her arm with Dursley’s and disapparated with a loud crack.

He looked down to Hermione and moved some stray strands of hair from her forehead. It was hard not to believe this was his fault, and yet, he found himself furious with her for running off as she had. If it had been anyone else — even Pansy — Draco would have let her turn. But Granger? Fuck, he couldn’t stomach the idea.

It took all of Draco’s strength to keep from drinking Hermione’s blood as it dribbled from her wrist. It sang to him — a siren’s call, the likes of which he’d never heard before. His tongue ran the length of his bottom lip, heady and hypnotized by the sweet aroma. Just a taste — all he wanted was a small taste of her.

The only thing that stopped him, aside from strength he didn’t know he had, was that he knew Hermione would never forgive him. He steeled himself and gritted his teeth.

With a flourish, he waved his wand over the two puncture marks on her wrist, which were still dribbling blood at a steady rate. She was so pale, almost waxy, and her lips had begun to turn purple. Draco lifted his hand to his fangs and broke the skin open so that his blood flowed. He pressed his bloody fingers to her open wounds and watched as they knitted themselves together. He could only hope that she still had the vampire protection on her; there was nothing else he could do.

His hand grazed her cheek, and he tried to rouse her. “Hermione,” he whispered as he ducked his lips by her ear. “I need you to wake up. I don’t have supplies and… the only thing I can do is give my blood to you. But… I need your permission, love. I don’t want to do this without your consent.”

She didn’t move.

He rested his head against hers and brought his hand to her cheek. His thumb caressed her cheekbone and he jostled her face a little to try and wake her.

“Hermione, please. Fuck, please answer me.”

Her dark eyelids fluttered and she moaned in the back of her throat. He startled at the sound and continued to try to wake her with his fingers trailing across her pale face.

“Draco?” She was breathless, barely able to open her eyes and move her lips. “What’s — what happened?”

“I need you to drink my blood,” he said urgently. Draco brought his wrist to his lips and punctured the vein with his teeth. He held it to her lips, but she pressed them together firmly. “Please, Hermione — please do this.”

Their eyes met and all he could do was nod, willing her to trust him — even after everything he’d put her through in the past. Finally, her mouth opened and even though she didn’t speak the words, it was all the permission he needed. He planted his wrist against her lips and let the blood spill into her mouth. All the while, all he could do was pray that it was enough to keep her alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed their holiday season! We're back on schedule for posting! Many thanks to mcal, the magnificent alpha extraordinaire whose insights and encouragement I value so much. And also to Lunamionny, whose beta skills are unbelievably amazing and whom I owe so much coffee to because she took some rather flat things in this chapter and made them pop. These ladies are amazing y'all. :D


	9. Clear Like a Diamond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my absolute favorite chapter to write to date and I'm so excited that it's time to post it (a day early because I have no chill at all). Much love to my dream team, mcal and Lunamionny, for their alpha/beta work respectively. You both make me so much better and I adore you. <3

[](https://imgbb.com/)  
  
_So clear like the diamond in your ring  
Cut to mirror your intention  
Oversized and overwhelmed  
The shine of which has caught my eye  
**Vindicated, Dashboard Confessional**_ **  
**

  
  


Sleep was not something that came easily to Hermione. She suffered from insomnia regularly. All the mind healers in the world reassured her that it was a normal post-traumatic stress response, and that the potions they recommended would help her sleep. Sometimes they did, but other times, they didn’t. Despite not taking her potions, the night of the masquerade was the best night’s sleep she’d had in years. It wasn’t, however, without vivid dreams.

_ She was nervous, which was to say that her palms were sweaty and her legs wobbly. She’d changed her outfit no fewer than five times, because strappy black heels didn’t go with the jeans she’d chosen, and then again because he hadn’t told her what type of date they were having, and then again because she was most comfortable in jeans and a jumper and why would she possibly sacrifice her comfort for a date? In the end, she settled on an oversized, lavender sweater and comfortable leggings that hugged her curves. _

_ Her hair was wrapped up in a tight knot just below the top of her head, and little curly strands of it cascaded haphazardly from the bun, as if they’d naturally fallen there — they hadn’t, of course, they’d been strategically pulled and placed there to draw attention to things like the slope of her neck or the diamond studs in her ears. _

_ Despite the fact that she wanted to appear nonchalant about this date, every small detail had been carefully orchestrated in order to lay the foundation for it — their fifth date.  _ The _ date. To entice him into the next stage. She’d finally get to know if Draco Malfoy’s prowess in bed lived up to the legend that had been boasted in the tabloids. _

_ The doorbell of her flat rang twice in quick succession. Hermione took one final, sweeping glance in her full length mirror — which assured her quite vocally that she looked positively stunning — and went to casually open her front door, as if she hadn’t been chewing the inside of her lip or fidgeting with her fingers for the entire afternoon. _

_ He stood there just the same as always: cool, calm, and collected. Dressed in charcoal trousers that fit snug around his waist and were no doubt tailored for his perfectly fit body. A form fitting v-neck black sweater hugged his lithe frame and exposed the hollow of his throat where Hermione’s eyes zeroed in and led her to imagine, not for the first time, running the length of her tongue over it. His throat bobbed under her stare, and when her eyes met his, her stomach flipped. _

_ His lips twitched and his gray eyes sparkled as he leaned against the doorframe and lifted his chin. _

_ “‘Lo, Granger.” _

“Granger? You awake?” There was a shift in movement to her right, and she groaned but refused to open her eyes. A slender, cold hand enveloped hers. “It’s impolite to pretend to sleep when someone tries to wake you.”

Hermione licked her lips. “Sod off,” she whispered, her breath catching on the dryness of her throat. She finally opened her eyes. “It’s impolite to wake someone who’s suffered a catastrophic incident.”

He rewarded her wit with a throaty chuckle, and leaned over the bed, a chunk of light hair falling into his eyes. “Are you almost through lying in bed all day, you lazy sod?”

She spluttered and yanked her hand from beneath his. “Lazy sod! I was bitten by a vampire and nearly bled dry. Exactly how soon were you expecting me to make a full recovery?”

Draco smiled and flashed his teeth, perfectly straight and fang-less. “Excuses, Granger. Nothing more. I’ve witnessed you overcoming far more adversity in less time. I think you’re milking it.”

“Ha!” Even as the exclamation left her, Hermione’s body revolted against the energy it took to make it. She tried to push herself up, but couldn’t summon the strength. “So says the King Of Whinging,” she said instead, settling back against her pillow while her eyelids fluttered closed.

“Lame comeback.” Draco’s hand met her shoulder and despite their chill, warmth spread through her bones. “Rest. It’s no fun if you’re not on top of your game.”

_ She hadn’t expected to find herself in the midst of muggle London with her hand wrapped around Draco’s elbow as he guided her down the street and into the hustle of the West End. He walked on the outside of the pavement, blocking her from the road as cars zoomed by. A perfect gentleman, always. She supposed he was raised as such. _

_ “Where are we going?” she asked him. The thrum of excitement that had been coursing through her since he arrived at her doorstep hadn’t disappeared, and in fact, had only escalated the more they’d walked through the city. _

_ “Patience, Granger,” he teased with a half-cocked smile. “I promise you’ll like this.” _

_ And, she did. _

_When they reached the tiny, hole-in-the-wall establishment, she wasn’t sure what to expect. The door was old and wooden, and at its side hung a sign that read_ The Dead Poets Society _._ _It looked run down, shabby, and most definitely not somewhere that she’d expect Draco Malfoy to patron_ _ize._

_ Draco pushed the door open and placed his hand gently on her lower back. As he guided her through the door, Hermione’s jaw dropped. The first thing that hit her was the leathery scent of old, worn books. An earthy scent soon followed, and while Draco’s hand encouraged her further into the dimly lit room, she couldn’t stop her eyes from flitting around to take it all in, paying absolutely no attention to where her feet were leading her, implicitly trusting Draco to guide her steps. _

_ In the center of the place was a tall, oak bar. Rustic-looking, its mirrored center was lined with rows of various liquors, whilst elaborate glasswares hung overhead. The men behind the bar all wore button-up white shirts and bow ties. They each donned flat caps, and had various degrees of facial hair. The entire image gave the pub a nostalgic? feel, much like a 1920s speakeasy. _

_ But, liquor and costumed bartenders aside, what really stole her breath away were the shelves upon shelves that lined the walls. They were filled with tomes, leatherbound and ancient looking. Some spaces were empty and as Hermione’s gaze traveled around the room, she noticed patrons reading as they drank; some huddled close together with a friend or lover, some on their own, seemingly perfectly content. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. _

_ “I’ll take your silence as confirmation of your approval.” Draco’s whisper, the breath of which landed just at the shell of her ear, sent tingles cascading down her spine. If she hadn’t wanted to shag him before, she certainly did now. _

_ Hermione lifted her chin, their lips only a hairsbreadth apart. “It’s perfect, Draco.” _

_ The answering smile that she got in return was simply everything. “Let’s have a drink and then choose a book.” _

_ “Any book?” Her eyes were back to the shelves; it was like Christmas, only  _ better _. _

_ His fingers climbed up her back and over her shoulder, until they wrapped around a curl and tucked it behind her ear. “World is your oyster, love.” _

_ As she stepped toward the bar, Hermione couldn’t help but try and convince herself that, perhaps, it would actually be  _ fine  _ to shag on fourth date. _

_ “What’ll it be, poppet?” the bartender asked with a charming smile. _

_ Draco pressed himself against her back and leaned forward with his face at the side of her head. “What do you think, Granger?  _ —Granger? —Granger?”

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open. She twisted her face into her pillow and groaned. Ugh, Merlin, she wanted to murder whomever had woken her up from such a wonderful dream. She fisted her hands into the bedcovers and cursed softly as an amused laugh filled the room.

When her eyesight finally focused enough to take in her surroundings, her gaze landed on a bespectacled face surrounded by chaotic raven locks. The face, to her annoyance, was split in a ridiculous smile. To her right was the exact opposite: a strict expression, pale skin, and a shock of blond hair. They were night and day, she thought, as an unwitting smile crept up her face.

“There she is, Potter,” Draco said, his voice proud for some reason. “Just needed the right incentive.”

“I’d hardly call you the  _ right incentive,  _ Malfoy.” Harry rolled his eyes and scooted his chair closer to her bedside. “How are you feeling, Hermione?”

She shrugged, though the movement was hardly useful when she was lying in bed. Hermione tried to lift her head and found that she had more energy than the last time she’d been awake, but she still felt an exhaustion deep in her bones. “Tired,” she admitted, a heavy breath leaving her before she yawned. “How long have I been—”

“Unconscious?” Harry asked, brows high and a notch forming between them. “Two days. We thought — well, Theo and I thought — that maybe you were… turning.” He glanced to Draco, and the worried look they shared didn’t escape her. “Since someone found it necessary to feed you his blood instead of waiting for Tracey to get back with supplies from our apothecary.”

“I gave him permission.” She quickly defended Draco whilst attempting to lift herself into a sitting position again and nearly succeeding before falling back onto her pillows. “You didn’t see… there was blood everywhere. The vampire, it tore into my wrist, Harry. I could have — I would have — died.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and turned to glare at Draco again. “So I’ve been told.”

Draco stood with his hands behind his back and chin lifted. “Saint Potter believed that you could have held out for another quarter of an hour, and that you therefore didn’t have to be sullied with the likes of vampire blood.”

“Possibly,” Hermione whispered, and Harry’s eyebrows jumped in response. Draco’s gaze found her, dark and dangerous. “But, I don’t think that it would have been smart to try. I trust Draco, Harry. And I think you need to learn to, as well.”

Harry grumbled, shrugged his shoulders, and stood from her bedside. “You’re still out of your mind, clearly. Get some rest. I’d like you well enough to attend the next Order meeting.”

Harry strode to the door but just before he left the room, he glanced back to Hermione as Draco sat in the chair he’d vacated. Hermione smiled at him, and nodded her chin —  _ it’ll be fine _ , she tried to tell him silently. He seemed to get the message because he left them alone a moment later.

“How are you really feeling, Granger?” Draco asked as he took her hand in his, stroking his cold thumb over her warm knuckles.

“Better,” she promised, the corners of her lips raising as her eyes drooped closed. “Tired.”

Before she drifted off once more, Hermione swore she felt the featherlight touch of his lips against the back of her hand.

Le Morte d’Arthur  _ was opened between them, resting across their laps and their heads were tilted towards each other as they read through a passage of the book together. Beside each of them sat a personalized drink from the bartenders, and two drained, empty glasses. Her face was cradled in the palm of her hand, and Draco’s shoulder was pressed against hers. Their knees touched, and he had a hand on her thigh, rubbing small circles over the covered skin. _

_ “You must be incredibly bored,” Hermione said as she turned her chin towards him. _

_ “Not even a little bit.” His hand stopped moving on her thigh and he smiled as his gaze dipped to her lips and up again. “Could spend the whole night like this, actually.” _

_ “But to listen to me spend hours talking about King Arthur?” Hermione chuckled and bit the side of her lip, thinking to herself how utterly ridiculous it was that of all the places and of all the people, she was in a library-esque cocktail bar with Draco Malfoy discussing the works of Thomas Malory. “It must feel so very muggle to you.” _

_ His hand resumed its movement and traveled the length of her thigh. Draco grabbed his drink, a small tumbler of gin-and-something, and took a sip. “On the contrary, I find the muggle interpretation of Merlin quite fascinating. Each time the muggles have been presented with magic, they’ve very nearly discovered the biggest secret that’s ever been kept from them, and they turn every close call for  _ us  _ into a famous story to tell through their generations.” _

_ She knew that Draco had repented his beliefs long ago, and publicly at that. Still, hearing him discuss muggles so casually, and his fascination with how they approach the wondrous idea of magic, lit a fire inside of her that she’d never quite felt before. Hermione couldn’t draw her gaze away from him, and while she was deliciously warm from the drink and the body heat they shared, something of a chill ran through her, zipped through her veins, as his hand found the crux of her thighs, lingered for a moment, and began its descent to her knee once more. _

_ A breath left her, and she licked her lips. “Tell me more about Merlin,” she asked him, not bothering to hide the fact that she was staring at the perfect bow of his lips. _

_ “Well, the story goes…” He took another drink. “Merlin was born as if from nothing, as if the great wizards of old had simply summoned him to existence.” All the while, his hand kept its meandering pace along her leg, and her breath sped up as her stomach flipped and flopped. “He was a seer, able to know the past, present, and future, but unlike the sorcerers before him, Merlin was determined to see Britain through the darkest of times, and eventually build a great empire ruled by justice and goodwill to all — muggles and wizards alike.” _

_ Hermione reached forward and rested her hand on top of Draco’s, next to his glass of gin. Her finger traced the thin flesh between his index finger and thumb, and enjoyed the way his eyes darkened as he looked in the direction of their hands. _

_ “Keep going,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling as she moved the book from between them and scooted herself even closer to him. _

_ “Getting turned on, Granger?” Draco raised a single, pale brow, and smirked. _

_ “If you don’t know the answer to that,” she chuckled softly, “then I’m doing a terrible job of flirting.” _

Voices dragged her from sleep, and if she’d had her wand to hand, Hermione would have hexed every single wizard in the room. She whimpered, lamenting the fact that the heat which had built inside her, was being doused by the sound of bickering.

“I’m not saying we have to send her back into Desdemona’s coven!” Draco argued, his voice controlled to a frightening degree. “I’m saying that she knows the castle now, and we can’t replicate that type of knowledge.”

“It’s irresponsible, not to mention that she’s still recovering from the last time we sent her in there.” Harry’s shout echoed through the room, leaving silence in its wake.

Hermione pushed herself to a sitting position, noting with relief that her muscles didn’t ache quite as much, nor did her entire body sag with exhaustion, the way it had the previous times she’d woken. “Will someone please tell me what the bloody hell is going on?”

It was Theo who answered, as Harry and Draco seemed too busy staring at one another with their arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

“This prat says that Desdemona is planning a blood draining event — not meant for turning, but as a sacrificial event for the coven. A bonding experience, per Dursley’s intel.” Theo gestured from Draco to Harry. “And this gorgeous prat says that there’s absolutely no way that we’re sending you back into that coven again.”

“We can send Tracey!” Harry exploded, arms flailing wildly.

“She’s Dudley’s familiar.” Draco rolled his eyes. “You don’t think Desdemona has intel on her own children?”

“Children? Gross.” Harry pulled a face as his arms dangled limply at his sides. “Okay, then. I’ll go.”

Three voices rang out in various states of exasperation: “No!”

Harry threw himself down in the chair next to Hermione’s bed. Theo came up behind him and planted a hand on either of his shoulders, massaging his thumbs into his muscles. Draco moved to Hermione and took her hand, as he had each time she’d woken up before.

“I had a mask on the last time I went,” Hermione said finally, not taking her eyes from Harry. “If she’s planning on murdering more people, you have to let me try to get to her. If we send in The Order, we’re not going to be able to save the other vampires, and then what will all this fighting over the Vampire Legislation be for?”

Draco’s hand clenched around hers, and she squeezed back.

Harry’s shoulder shrugged and he shook his head. “Maybe we should just take them out,” he said quietly, dropping his gaze to his hands in his lap. “She’s already doubled her coven, and she’s turned half of them into sires. I don’t know how to fight against that, do you?”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and glanced to the infirmary’s ceiling. “We didn’t know how to fight Voldemort—” Theo shuddered and she felt Draco’s hand flinch on hers. “Either, but we beat him, didn’t we? We can do this, too. We just need a plan, and we need more information.”

Harry sighed, the dejection clear on his face, even though his frown lifted into a resigned line. “Fine, but not until you’re ready.” His eyes cut to Draco. “How long do we have before she sacrifices someone?”

“Dudley said the full moon,” Draco said, barely moving his lips. 

“Fine.” Harry placed a hand on Theo’s and nodded sharply. “That gives us a few days. Hermione, rest for the day and we’ll call an Order meeting tonight.”

“But—”

“We cannot send you back to Desdemona with those ghastly dark circles under your eyes,” Theo said, a deep smirk on his face. “Sleep, and when you wake up, we’ll come up with a plan to save all the vampires.”

She didn’t need telling twice. She slipped down onto her pillow once more, her hand still wrapped up in Draco’s.

_ Hermione stumbled over her own feet and grabbed Draco’s arm to keep herself from falling to the ground. She laughed as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against his body in an effort to keep her upright. His raspy laugh in her ear did delicious things to her body, and when they finally reached the door of her flat, she played with her key as she tried to pluck up the courage to invite him inside. _

_ “I, er…” she turned toward him with her key in the door, and a hand behind her back. “I really had an excellent time with you tonight.” _

_ He smirked. It was a ridiculously taunting thing that he’d worn so many times before, and yet somehow, this time, she didn't find it malicious or cruel. It was playful and wicked, and the heat between her legs reached a boiling point. Draco leaned in, an arm resting on the door frame, the heady scent of his spicy cologne making her dizzy. His nose touched her cheek, and he kissed the corner of her mouth sweetly. _

_ “Me too,” he whispered, bringing his other hand to her waist and lazily moving it up and down her side. “And if I haven’t told you enough tonight, you look so fucking pretty, Granger.” _

_ His lips were on hers then, firm and searching. He wasted no time pressing her back into the door and dragging his hand to the loose curls at her neck. His tongue traced along the seam of her lips and when she opened her mouth to kiss him deeper, it swept inside. She didn’t know that the taste of gin could turn her on and yet its sting on her tongue sent fire through her nerves. Hermione grabbed his jumper and pulled him closer still, moaning into the kiss as he led their tongues in a fierce dance. _

_ The hand on her hip tightened, the one in her hair tugged at the roots, and Hermione was putty under his touch, arching her back and running her hands down his hard body. _

_ She pulled away for only a second, but he didn’t let his lips leave her for long. He kissed her throat, somehow knowing where to make her shiver, and ran his teeth over the sensitive skin. _

_ “Do you — do you want to come inside?” she asked breathlessly, tilting her head back until it collided with the door and exposing the long expanse of her throat to his mouth. _

_ Draco kissed his way up the column of her throat, nipping and licking along the way. When he reached her lips again, he planted a chaste kiss there, before taking a small step backwards. “You’ve made it very clear that you don’t shag until the fifth date, Granger,” he teased her and dropped his hands from her body, leaving her cold and wanting. “That would be cheating the process.” _

_ “To hell with the process.” She moved forward for another kiss, but Draco took her hands in his with a low, rumbling chuckle. _

_ “You say that now while you’re pissed.” He kissed the back of her hands, one after another. “But, I know you well enough to know that you’ll regret it in the morning if we break your rules.” _

_ She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off with another chaste kiss. _

_ “I’m not saying I like your rules.” Draco reached behind her, opened the door to her flat, and dropped her keys into the palm of her hand. “But there’s no way I’m going to fuck this up because I couldn’t control myself for the both of us.” _

_ He kissed her again, pressing her back into the unforgiving hardness of the doorframe. Fingers trailed over her cheek and her jaw and then to the back of her neck; he manipulated the kiss until he was plunging deep into her mouth and drawing the most salacious moans from the back of her throat. _

_ “Perhaps dinner tomorrow?” he asked when he finally pulled away. _

_ She nodded breathlessly, which earned her a proud smile from him. He ducked his chin, said goodnight, and stole off into the night before she could chase him down and tell him she’d vehemently changed her mind about her own rules. _

_ Something inside of her cracked open. _

_ It was only the fourth date, but surely she shouldn’t feel  _ this _ deeply for him already? The ‘L word’ circled around her fuzzy and vodka-riddled brain, but Hermione laughed it off as she locked herself into her flat and — somewhat reluctantly — took care of the ache between her thighs by herself. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: The Dead Poets Society is not a real bar as far as I know, but is a movie. The lovely Lunamionny helped me name it and she’s clearly a genius. 💛


	10. Love Remains

_Drink, to all that we have lost  
Mistakes we have made  
Everything will change  
But, love remains the same  
**Love Remains the Same, Gavin Rossdale**_

  
  


There were certain comforts that Harry liked to enjoy after a life of near-death experiences, experiences that seemed to still be following him around as if they were an old friend. Well, maybe not so much like an old friend, especially when they took the form of the stubbornly persistent paparazzi that just wanted a slice of whatever he was willing to give — or not, and therein lies the difference. 

Or whatever Hermione had told him one night when they’d been five glasses deep in Beeblebrox Brew.

All he knew was that he liked comfort and structure and plans, far more now than he ever had before, because he hadn’t really known them until after Voldemort. And, with routine and carefully laid strategies, came easier breathing and stronger dueling and less lectures from older wizards who claimed to know what they were doing but decidedly did not.

Or whatever Theo had told him when they’d been otherwise occupied after a great shag.

The point, Harry decided as he gripped a crimson envelope in his hand, was that any time the Ministry was involved in anything, there was no structure and no plan and it usually ended with Harry being hurt in some way. Sometimes physically — Dolores. Sometimes mentally — Scrimgeour. Sometimes, all of the above — _Undesirable No. 1_. The envelope, which was curled in his fist, struggled against his hold. He didn’t let it go, even though he may have been suffering from papercuts and, at the very least, second degree burns.

“You know you have to open it,” Hermione told him rather unhelpfully as she sipped her warm tea and stared at the howler. “It’ll explode if you don’t.”

“Let it fucking explode then!” He crunched it harder in his hand and glared at the offending paper.

Who the fuck did Kinglsey even think he was, to demand his presence at the Wizengamot for trial? Hadn’t he gone through enough already? Theo’s hand on his shoulder applied a soothing amount of pressure, his thumb digging into tense muscles. He ran his hand down Harry’s straining forearm, which encouraged him to loosen his grip.

“Give it here, love,” he whispered in Harry’s ear, and despite how adamantly opposed he was to allowing the howler to have it easy, Harry abided his boyfriend’s request and let him steal the letter from his hand. “If you hadn’t offended Minister Shacklebolt by vehemently opposing a visit to the Ministry, then perhaps he wouldn’t send you howlers about it.”

“He’s supposed to be my _friend_ ,” Harry complained through his molars, eager to steal the paper back and rip it to shreds. “He should tell the Wizengamot that they’re being absolute tossers and to go back to the hellhole they’ve crawled out of.”

“That would be the worst political move he could make.” Hermione eyed the howler in Theo’s hand and crossed her ankles. “He _has_ to look as if he’s trying, and if you’re refusing to follow along, it’s only going to make everything harder.”

“So I have to comply with this fucked up summons, even if I don’t agree with it, because I know that the Supreme Mugwump has already decided to slaughter every vampire on the planet, and that this is nothing but show?” Rage licked at every fiber of his being and he swiped at the howler, but Theo held it high over his head like a gigantic git.

“Yes.” Theo lifted his hands over his head and ripped open the howler. “That’s precisely what you’re meant to do if you want to affect any real change in the world, Boy Wonder.”

_HARRY J POTTER, YOU ARE HEREBY SUMMONED FOR THE FOURTH TIME TO APPEAR BEFORE THE WIZENGAMOT BY OFFICIAL ORDER OF THE MINISTER FOR MAGIC. FAILURE TO APPEAR WILL NOT BE TOLERATED AND WILL RESULT IN THE SUSPENSION OF YOUR MAGIC FOR A PERIOD NO LONGER THAN SIX MONTH—_

A fireball collided with the howler and burst into flames. As it detailed the date and time for the Wizengamot session, Kingsley’s voice choked on it’s ashes. Harry stared at the space where the howler had been, jaw hanging open and arms trembling at his sides. It wasn’t _his_ wand that had knocked it from the air, however. Theo’s arm was raised and his wand outstretched.

“Bugger that,” he said with a quiet sort of rage as he wrapped his free arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Time to find a new minister, I expect.”

“He’s only doing his duty,” Hermione argued, though her eyes were on the tea inside of her cup in an apparent effort to avoid catching Theo’s fiery gaze. “We’re the only chance he has to fight the damn thing, and Harry’s done nothing but argue like a petulant child the entire time. Of course he’s going to threaten you, Harry. But he won’t take away your magic. That’s mental.”

“I’d like to see him try,” Harry grumbled, pulling out his wand and clearing away the howler’s remains. He grabbed a cup of black coffee, knocked it back as if it were whisky, and tilted his neck from side to side, enjoying the way the bones popped and relieved his tension. “The Order will be here any time now. Let’s move into the War Room.”

* * *

It was quite fun being part of a team again. Luna hadn’t been close to friends since before she’d gone off on her world tour with the Scamanders, and really, that had been Dumbledore’s Army. There really hadn’t been much use for the old gang after Lord Voldemort had fallen. Not until Harry Potter decided to reorganize The Order of the Phoenix.

She liked sitting in the War Room and developing extended Protean Charms and full body shields. Hermione was an amazing resource, as she seemed to have the entirety of Charms memorized, and could recite Goshawk’s laws from memory. Luna liked Charms enough, but she always felt more at home with the more delicate arts of Divination and Defense. It stood to reason that, if one could see the future and defend themselves from it, well… when she had given her dissertation on the subject to the Wizengamot, they seemed pleased enough with her reasoning. It was a shame she’d decided against pursuing work as an Unspeakable, though. It wouldn’t be much fun to make discoveries and not be allowed to waffle on about it with friends.

So, instead, she’d turned up on the doorstep of Potter Cottage when Harry had fired up their Order galleons, fresh from the hull of a ship returned from Iceland. She wore a scarf and knitted hat, mittens and fuzzy socks, and had little Naboo on her shoulder wearing miniature earmuffs to keep his ears from getting cold.

She sat in the War Room next to Charles, whom she’d decided was the most clear headed of the bunch. It was a joy to watch the wrackspurts try to enter his mind, but fall away as if there were a force field around him. At one point, she thought that Harry attracted them naturally… until she watched them sink into every member of the Order, all except for Charles.

Something told her that he was special, and so she’d made sure he knew that she was available to be part of his life.

“Charles,” she greeted him now, with an easy smile, pulling her mittens off her hands. “How are the kelpies doing on their new ranch?”

He beamed at her, a dashing grin that overtook his whole face, and leaned into her, his shoulder bumping against hers. “The one you’ve named Minnie was actually a Mickey,” he told her with a laugh.

She shook her head. “He’s definitely still a Minnie; don’t change the name.”

Quiet settled in around them, and Luna pulled her sparkling eyes from Charles to Harry as he stood from his seat and addressed the room. The wrackspurts clouded his eyes; she wondered how he could see anything at all.

* * *

Lovegood was a raving lunatic, and no one would ever convince Blaise otherwise. It didn’t mean she wasn’t delightful, of course — he’d had the pleasure of enjoying her lunacy once in the privacy of his yacht, and if Daphne wasn’t in the picture… Blaise dragged his gaze from Luna and his eyes landed on Daphne who lifted a brow in his direction. He shrugged, she smirked and then rested her head on his shoulder as Potter continued droning on.

“Hermione has taken days to recover from a single bite from one of Desdemona’s vampires,” Harry said, his gaze sweeping around the room. His fist pressed into the table as if he were grounding himself. “We’ve confirmed last night that, of the dozen vampires she was attempting to make, she succeeded in adding ten to her ranks. It brings her running total to—”

“Eighteen,” Blaise said, saluting Harry as the latter’s finger pointed in his direction with gratitude. Or at least that’s what Blaise decided Potter meant by it. “And Sanguini has been in London every night. Knockturn. Weasley and I tried to follow him, but the bloke is like an unplottable building.”

“It’s like he has an invisibility cloak,” George clarified, as if that made Blaise’s explanation any clearer.

But Potter nodded his head and his eyes cut to Granger. “How many uses does a standard invisibility cloak have?”

“A dozen,” Pansy answered, and Blaise smirked at the indignant scowl on the little Gryffindor Princess’s face. “We make them at the boutique. If there’s no advanced charms, and it’s not that monstrosity that you have. But, it hardly matters; they’re commercial now. Sanguini probably has hundreds. If your plan is to follow him around until it fades, that’s a stupid plan.”

Potter’s face crumpled, and Blaise enjoyed seeing Pansy take pride in being the cause of it. “Right. Malfoy.” He swung his gaze to Draco. “How’s it going with you getting closer to Sanguini?”

Blaise hid a chuckle behind his hand as Draco’s infamous scowl deepened. His lips barely moved as he frowned at Potter. “I’ve been rather tied up with things here, Scarhead.”

“Is anyone going to give me any good news at all?” Harry demanded of the room.

Blaise raised his hand, a beaming smile on his face. “Mother passed her seat on the Wizengamot to me this morning.” Salazar’s tits, how he loathed to ascend to his place there. “I am now officially House Zabini’s vote on the vampire legislation bill.”

Daphne planted a kiss on his cheek, and Blaise grinned as the room broke into a cacophony of chatter as the Order members discussed what that might mean for them.

* * *

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. She was exhausted, but trying to push through the meeting. Any moment and the Pepper-Up Potion she’d taken would kick in and then she wouldn’t feel as if her head was going to drop and thud against the table at any second.

“Hermione is going to enter Desdemona’s coven again,” Harry said to the room. Everyone’s eyes shifted to her. “Dudley informed us of Desdemona’s intent to sacrifice someone in a bonding experience for her coven. Hermione’s going with Draco in order to stop the ceremony and try to bring down Des.”

“Because it worked so well sending Hermione in the last time.” Much to Hermione’s surprise, it was Neville who spoke on her behalf. She offered him a half smile, and he bobbed his head at her with a grin. “Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, storm the castle or something? If we all went in with our wands ready, her coven wouldn’t stand a chance.”

A round of agreement flitted through the room. Harry sighed, his fingers pressed into his temples. “Yes, we could take down her entire coven, or we could spare the new vampires and rehabilitate them.”

“Should we vote?” George asked, eyes sparkling with mischief. It was Pansy who tempered his amusement with a bubblegum-pink tipped finger to her lips. “Only trying to diffuse the tension,” he said to Harry by way of explanation.

“Right.” Harry was the worst at hiding his emotions; always had been. It was almost funny to watch him actively try not to roll his eyes at George as he continued on in an even tone, his hand wrapping around Theo’s wrist. “The point of all of this, is to receive updates from all of you, but also to warn you that we _may_ need backup in Nottinghamshire in two days’ time. Make yourselves available. And Charlie — Kingsley’s ordered me to the Wizengamot, so I’ll need your escort and a pair of eyes on my back.”

Charlie nodded and scratched his beard. “No problem. He, er… might have come to my office and threatened to curse you to oblivion.”

“Why is the government _always_ against me?”

“Because you just don’t know when to do what you’re told,” Draco said as if everyone in the room were thinking it and Harry just didn’t have the brain to work it out.

Hermione glanced to Draco, who wore a smirk. He looked to her, as if he sensed her eyes upon him. His smirk faded, but the amusement in his eyes grew darker.

* * *

After another hour of talking through the strategy — which mostly involved Hermione and Draco discussing exactly how they planned to enter the castle in Nottinghamshire — The Order disbursed. Harry and Theo entertained those who chose to stay, talking through various worst case scenarios and discussing the non-vampire issues that were cropping up around the country. The biggest concern seemed to be that Cormac had gone missing after heading to Sheffield to meet with an old friend of Desdemona’s.

It wasn’t unlike him to wander off and reappear when he felt like it though, so Harry decided not to expend their resources in searching for him.

Later, Hermione found herself sitting on the smallest sofa in the living room, nursing a small glass of Beeblebrox Brew with Draco by her side. A programme was on the telly, but she couldn’t concentrate on it properly when Draco was in such close proximity.

“We haven’t really been able to discuss what happened the last time we were in Nottingham,” Draco said, pulling her from her trance-like stare at the television screen. “I think we should discuss it.”

“Must we?” she asked, lips tugging down. He lifted a brow and she deflated. “Fine. Go ahead, then, if you must.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t think they needed to talk about what had transpired between them. No, it was that, after days sleeping in the infirmary with his blood coursing through her veins, she felt very raw where Draco Malfoy was concerned. And she wasn’t in the right mindset to dissect those things just yet. But, as he was insufferable and relentless, Hermione thought it best to get it out of the way before he pestered her to death.

“Do you know what it means to have my blood in your veins?” he asked as he pulled his ankle over his knee and wrapped his other hand around the back of the sofa.

Of course she did. She’d researched ages ago. The old texts she’d been able to dig up in the Potter Library were filled with information about vampires, their bites, and their blood. She knew that, as the blood worked its way through her body, it would cure her ailments — open wounds, bruising and the like, though some research suggested that the blood of a vampire could also cure headaches, the common cold, and insomnia. It certainly explained why she’d slept so well since; she hadn’t even needed to take her potions from the mind healer.

“It means I wasn’t going to die from that vampire bite,” she said finally, fully encasing her hands around the bottle of brew and peeling the label back with her thumbnail. Hermione shrugged and let her eyes drift to the quiet telly.

“That’s not all, and you know it — if you haven’t done hours of research, I’ll eat Potter.” Her eyes snapped to his and found they were teasing, as his lips lifted at the corners. “Come on, Granger. You weren’t a Ravenclaw, but we all know how swotty you are.”

“What do you want me to say?” She turned to him then, pulling her leg onto the sofa and shoved her foot under her thigh. “It’s not as if I expected to imbibe vampire blood.”

Draco’s hand moved from the back of the sofa down to his lap. He inched it towards her slowly. Her heart rate increased the closer it got, and the look on his face was positively wolfish. “I want you to tell me what you _feel_. We both know that there’s something more. I can certainly feel it.” His hand moved to his chest and he patted the space over his heart. “Right there, Granger. You feel it?”

She moved her hand instinctively to her heart and laid her palm flat. It beat as normal, perhaps quicker, but there was nothing — _oh_. Hermione swallowed as his eyes darkened. They were nearly black in color and void of the quicksilver shine they’d had only moments before. And then she felt it, clear as day. Sharp, delectable in the way it thrummed through her entire body and soared through her veins. Warm and alluring in a way she couldn’t remember her body feeling before.

“That,” he whispered, trying once again to reach out to her, and Hermione didn’t stop him. His hand wrapped around hers and he stroked her knuckles with a light sweep. “You can feel _me_.”

“Well, that’s problematic,” she muttered, biting the inside of her cheek even as she sipped on her drink. Her eyes never left his; she found that it felt emotionally painful to consider pulling her gaze from his. In fact, she could stay there on the sofa and stare into his eyes until the end of time and it would feel like time well spent. “What is this?”

“Vampires call it The Lure.” He yanked her forward and liquid jumped from her glass. She swallowed hard and dropped her eyes to his lips. “Older vampires can influence the emotions of their prey and make them more susceptible to accepting a bite, but newer vampires, like me, must give blood to our prey in order for them to feel this… charm.”

“That’s terrible,” Hermione said quietly as she watched his canines snap forth. “How do I know that I’m acting of my own accord?”

“You can’t be sure until my blood is out of your system.” The tingles shooting from where his hand was stroking hers sent chills through her body. She could smell, feel, and hear every single breath between them crashing over her. “It works both ways, Granger.” The more that heat pooled in her belly, the darker his eyes became. 

“You should leave,” she hissed, pulling her hand from his and scooting herself back against the arm of the sofa. “We can’t… I _won’t_ … It would be different if you’d tried, but you left and _you_ broke it off, not me.”

“Kills me every fucking day.” Draco closed his eyes and then stretched his neck until a satisfying crack filled the room around them. “I’m not suggesting we shag through The Lure. But you had to be aware of what was happening between us, before you did something we’d both regret.”

As if she couldn’t control herself against his charms! Hermione snorted derisively and clutched her drink tightly. She’d been doing okay, in fact, hadn’t felt any differently towards him until he’d gotten closer to her and was touching her and forcing her to focus on The Lure.

But, what did that all mean? Her nostrils flared as the implications swept over her. She’d dreamt about him, about the night she all but begged him to take her to bed. She’d met his eyes in the War Room and felt the coil of something both wicked and wonderful in her core. Maybe she wasn’t going to shag him on the sofa in the middle of HQ, but her body had been responding to him even before she’d had a drop of his blood on her tongue.

She was absolutely, positively buggered.

Draco stood from the sofa, a swift and graceful movement that rendered her speechless. “I have to check in with Sanguini before going back to Desdemona’s castle. The vampire blood should have circulated out of your system by the time I get back. Unless you want a shag now and see what all the fuss is about, that is?”

Hermione glared at him and pinched her lips. “No, thank you.”

“Liar,” he said under his breath, chuckling darkly. She glanced at the fireplace, five feet away across the room, and then back to Draco skeptically. He held his hand out to her, a cheeky smile on his face. “Walk me to the floo?”

She stood up, refusing to take his hand, and walked to the fireplace, keeping one step ahead of him. He didn’t try to stop her, merely snorted and followed along. He grabbed the small, silver canister that housed their floo powder and tucked it under his arm before taking a step closer to Hermione. With his free hand, he reached up to her temple and tucked a hair behind her ear. She shivered as his fingers trailed down the side of her neck and lingered over her pulse point. She pressed her thighs together while trying desperately to maintain her composure.

“I made the wrong decision before,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper between them.

Draco leaned closer to her. She knew she should run away from him, but she was rooted to the spot. Every piece of her screamed for her to drag him to her bedroom and do wicked things to his body. Instead, she struggled against her instincts and glanced down to their feet.

“You did?”

His index finger lifted her chin, and only when her gaze met his did he utter a soft, “Mmhm.”

As he came closer, she moved her hand towards his chest and laid her palm over the point where his beating heart should have been. Instead, she was met with stillness, and she swallowed under the weight of realizing that, after years of believing Malfoy to be a heartless bastard, finally — and perhaps, ironically — now he was.

His lips ghosted along her cheek, barely the weight of a feather.

And then he was gone, leaving in his wake a roaring green fire and the erratic pulse of his blood in her veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alpha love to mcal and beta love to Lunamionny. <3 This fic wouldn't be what it is without them! <3
> 
> The line “just trying to diffuse the tension” was from the movie Deathly Hallows Pt. 1. I love that line and used it here.


	11. Dog Days Are Over

_Leave all your love and your longing behind you  
Can't carry it with you if you want to survive  
The dog days are over  
The dog days are done  
**Dog Days Are Over, Florence + The Machine**_  


  
  


The fact that he had to appear before the Wizengamot was bollocks. He’d done enough, as far as he was concerned, and the fact they had the gall to ask him to support  _ this _ excuse for legislation proved to him that they had no idea exactly how far Harry Potter had lost faith in the Ministry’s ability to solve Britain’s problems. So, as he strode into Kingsley’s office and slammed the door behind him, with the Minister’s curvy little secretary chasing after him, Harry wore his anger like a badge of pride.

“Harry!” Kingsley jumped from behind his desk, clad in official, almost regal, purple Ministry robes. His bald head was covered by a boxy, matching hat. He stood nearly a foot taller than Harry and was twice as wide. “You can’t just barge into the Minister’s off—” 

“Cut the shit, Minister.” Harry, despite his rage, shook the hand that Kingsley held out for him and deposited himself in the chair Kingsley gestured to. “I’m not a Ministry official. And you shouldn’t be summoning me as one.”

Kinglsey sat opposite Harry and shuffled some papers out of the way. “It’s an official summons from the Wizengamot, Harry. I can’t ignore it, either. We are bound by the duties that—” Kingsley looked up as slammed his hands down on the top of his desk.

“That’s bollocks and you know it, Kings.” His magic crackled around him, zapping the air and fluttering the papers on the desk. “This Vampire Legislation is exactly the kind of thing the Ministry has always done with things they don’t understand, and  _ you’re _ leading that charge.”

“Look, Potter.” The use of his surname only proved to Harry that he’d struck a nerve. “The Supreme Mugwump has been briefed on the vampire problem. We cannot just stand back and allow the population to be turned into bloodsucking—”

“That doesn’t mean you slaughter them all!” Harry leaned forward, closer to the Minister, his forearms straining under the weight of his body. “Robards purposefully left information out of our debrief a week ago, and why’s that? Because  _ you _ and your  _ administration _ have an agenda that conflicts with Order business.”

“You’re young,” Kinglsey whispered, as if trying to temper Harry’s anger. “It’s not as easy as simply allowing a vigilante organization to round them up and rehabilitate them. It takes time, resources, and most importantly—”

“Galleons.” Harry’s acerbic tone dripped from his barely open lips. “You seem to operate under the impression that I don’t have galleons to spare, Minister.”

“You can’t just toss your wealth at the problem and hope it goes away, Harry. There are lifelong programs that must be created, official registries that will need to be upkept for the foreseeable future, and we’ll still have to suffer, and implement, the consequences if any of the vampires decide to go rogue and slaughter a village. Do you really want that on your hands?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Did you know that in my fifth year, the Ministry labeled me a liar, a deranged opportunist seeking attention because of the way my parents were killed? That I was a danger to society? And, do you know that it was precisely that foundation that led them to name me Undesirable Number One when Voldemort,” — Kingsley winced, but Harry pressed on — “overthrew your precious Ministry?”

“I know that the Ministry has never been very good at handling… things… where you’re concerned, Harry, but you cannot simply ignore the Wizengamot and run off to do your Savior of the Wizarding World thing.” Kingsley stood from his seat and leaned toward Harry, straightening his posture and making himself as tall as possible. Harry didn’t back down, but did take stock of where his wand lay against his hip. “We need you here to fight with us against the proposal for the bill. If you don’t the Supreme Mugwump will have it passed, and if you act against them after that, then you’ll be seen as a…”

“As. A. What?” Harry stood straight and ran a hand through his hair, purposefully showing off his silvery lightning bolt scar that sat above his narrowed eyes.

Kinglsey’s shoulders sagged and he shook his head. “Harry, you have to speak to the Wizengamot. I cannot — my hands are tied in my position. They need you to bite back your hatred for this system and appeal to those who don’t hold contempt for anyone that’s not a pureblooded, sacred twenty-eight family member.”

They held one another’s eyes for several silent minutes. Harry blew a sharp breath out through his lips and scowled.

“I don’t like it, Kings.”

“I know.” He bowed his head. “But it’s the best that I can do, and I cannot guarantee that it will be enough.”

“I thought  _ you  _ would be different.” Harry sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I thought — I don’t know, Kings, I thought maybe we could make this a world that Remus and Moody and Sir… Sirius… could be proud of. And  _ this _ ? This is taking us back to a place that I spent my entire childhood fighting against.”

“Maybe one day we can make a difference,” Kingsley said sadly, “And that’s precisely why I need you on my side, in that courtroom, continuing the fight. Can you do that, Harry?”

“Fuck!” Harry kicked the chair leg in frustration, and took a small amount of satisfaction in the way the portrait behind Kingsley gasped and exclaimed loudly: 

“Dear me!”

* * *

  
  


“So then he says some bollocks about needing my voice in the Ministry to keep them from commiting genocide.” Harry nursed a very strong drink — Theo would know, he’d mixed it himself — and hung his head as he went through his meeting with Kingsley point-by-point. “Well, he didn’t exactly say those words, but it’s not as if we don’t know how to read between the lines by now.”

“It’s disgusting.” Hermione, sitting on Harry’s other side, said with a scowl. “It’s exactly what they’ve been doing to werewolves. And we still haven’t been able to change that law, either.”

“Granger.” Theo met her eyes and lifted his chin. “Would you be an absolute gem and fetch Boy Wonder another drink?”

He didn’t quite have the same, uncanny ability to read her mind like Harry did, but Theo liked to think that perhaps she understood that he was trying to get her out of the room. As she nodded, she reached for Harry’s glass and wrestled it away from him. Theo pulled his boyfriend’s shaking hands into his lap and held onto them, massaging the pads of his palms.

“Look, love.” Theo ducked his face down to try and catch his eye, but Harry kept his gaze directed at his thighs. He sighed. “I know it’s shit, but you’re doing the right thing. When the younger generation take their seats, it will be easier. But we need to set the foundation now. And the only person in the wizarding world with enough pull to do that is The Chosen One.”

He knew Harry  _ loathed _ the monicker, but it worked to draw his gaze to Theo. Bright green, brilliant, earnest eyes, eyes that were filled with rage, stared back at him. Theo reached out and stroked his cheek.

“It’s like I’m condoning what they’ve done by attempting to work with them. That’s why I wanted Charlie on the inside, Luna with  _ The Quibbler. _ ” Harry shook his head and his shoulders sagged. “I don’t want any of this, Theo. I hate it.”

“I know.” Theo pulled Harry’s head to his chest and ran his fingers through the tangled dark hair at the back of his head. “None of us want to play the parts we’ve been given. I don’t want to live in a den of Death Eaters, and yet, I’ll need to go back and gather more intel on the Carrows soon.”

Harry’s rubbed his face against his boyfriend’s chest and groaned. Theo couldn’t help the ridiculous grin that crawled up his face. He tugged Harry’s head back by a lock of hair and then planted a firm kiss on his lips.

“Don’t go tonight,” Harry asked quietly, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Theo groaned and kissed him again. This time slower, then harder again, and regretted the words that were about to leave him. “I have to go. I have a part to play, too. Though, it’s about time that you had a good influence around here. Granger’s great and all, but she gets you all riled up with her do-gooder quests. Going to that castle in Nottinghamshire is a terrible idea.”

Harry shrugged and Theo struggled not to roll his eyes. The pair of them were the worst, and arguing about such things wasn’t even worth. 

“She’ll go regardless of what we say. I’m worried about her, though. This vampire mess is personal to her now.”

Theo nodded, his lips pulling in a crooked frown. “It’s personal for all of us now.”

“Not me,” Harry grumbled, and Theo’s hold on his hair tightened playfully. “Sorry. I know he’s your best mate, but he’s such an idiot.”

“I’ve known that idiot my entire life, and I still love him, Potter.” Theo’s eyes sparkled down at his lover, his boyfriend, and he felt the words bubble up to his lips before he pressed them together and kept them from bursting forth. “And he loves Granger. You don’t have a choice but to care.”

“Loves her?” Harry stuck his tongue out as if the very idea disgusted him, and Theo sighed.

“Come on, up you get. Time for bed.” Theo stood up, grasped hold of Harry’s hands and and pulled him off the sofa?. Harry couldn’t hold his drink, and after consuming several strong concoctions made by Theo’s hand, it was best to put him to bed before he became a whiney, belligerent arse. “Don’t make me hex you now, Boy Wonder. You haven’t beat me in a duel yet.”

Harry’s hand moved to where he kept his wand. “I could take you,” he said petulantly, and Theo clucked his tongue as he shifted Harry’s weight against his torso.

“Oh sure, I’m always so blown away by the prowess of your Expelliarmus.”

Harry started to say something that Theo was certain would be typical of his astounding wit, but promptly shut his mouth as Theo swatted him on the arse. When Theo finally deposited Harry into his bed, a smile overtook his sharp features. Falling in love with Potter was the best choice he’d ever made.

As Harry’s hand reached out to clutch Theo’s shirt, yanking him down onto the bed next to him, Theo chuckled. He pulled Harry against his chest and wrapped his arm around his torso before stroking his fingers through Harry’s hair and whispering in his ear.

“I’ll stay for a little while.” He kissed Harry on the forehead, just shy of his lightning shaped scar, and let his head fall back against the pillows. Just before his boyfriend started to snore against his chest, Theo warned him, “Don’t drool on my shirt.”

* * *

Hermione could take a hint. When Theo had thought he was being sneaky and asked her to leave the room, she knew it had been because he’d wanted to talk to Harry alone, to have a personal conversation that she wasn’t invited to hear. She didn’t mind. It gave her time to sort out her own thoughts without Harry’s latest outburst ringing through her mind. It was the first time she’d been able to just sit and think for what felt like days.

She sat on the old swing in the back garden and crossed her ankles as it swung gently back and forth. Her eyes turned to the inky black sky, cloudless with dots of endless stars shining down on her. The moon was high and very nearly full, and she swallowed hard at the thought of what that meant.

Another trip to Desdemona’s coven. For all the confidence she showed in front of The Order and Draco, Hermione was nervous. Her fingers traced the little silver scars on her wrist where she’d been bitten, and then up to the wounds that Dudley had left on her neck. She’d managed to go her entire life without being bitten by a vampire, but in the course of a fortnight, she’d nearly died twice.

Hermione let her head fall back against the summer-patterned cushion that lined the swing. She closed her eyes and folded her hands over her stomach. It was an attempt to clear her mind. Think through the strategy. Convince herself that she could do this.

With her eyes closed and the world around her silent, a new sensation overtook her. The desire for a man who wasn’t even close by, who’d left her despite his later confession that he’d never wanted to do so. The Lure swept through her, unwelcomed and frustrating. Pining after Draco was something she’d thought she’d gotten over so long ago, and now… 

All she could imagine were the heated glances and the soft touches and sweet kisses. The way he’d breathe in her ear and tell her how badly he wanted to do things with her. How he’d understood when she would tell him goodnight — breathless and flushed against the door of her flat.

A flat she didn’t even sleep in anymore.

Hermione groaned and bit her lip as she tried to temper the lust coursing through her.

“Sickle for your thoughts, Golden Girl?”

She cracked open one eye to find Theo hovering over her, all tall and lanky and smarmy and crowding her personal space. “If you’re determined to ruin the only peace and quiet I’ve had in a long time, then perhaps you wouldn’t mind sitting down and wiping that look off your face.”

“What look?” He feigned ignorance with a hand over his heart, though he did sit down as she requested. Right next to her so that their arms were pressed together. “The one filled with worry that you’re going to bite a hole through your lip?”

Hermione straightened her back and crossed her legs at the knee. “Precisely that one.”

Theo tossed her a roguish grin as he reached into his cloak pocket and withdrew a slim packet of cigarettes and a lighter. He pulled out a cigarette, sparked the tip, grasped the end between two fingers and held it out to her. She considered it; she’d smoked in the past. The harsh sting she knew she’d feel at the back of her throat wasn’t an unwelcome feeling. The smoke spiraled towards her face and her nose scrunched as the stale, acrid smell hit her.

“No, thank you,” she said, waving her hand between them so that the smoke dissipated. “That’ll kill you, you know?”

Theo shrugged and took a drag, letting the cigarette dangle loosely between his lips. “There are a lot of things that could kill me. Least I enjoy this one.”

Hermione’s lips raised in a small, understanding smile. “Harry doesn’t mind?”

“Potter’s the one who got me hooked,” Theo said with a rueful sort of laugh. “The first time he lit one up, I thought he was having me on. First drag I took, I nearly cursed him. But, I must say, it’s quite soothing over a glass of whiskey or a good chat.”

“Harry smokes?” Hermione’s eyebrows shot straight up. In the whole year that she’d lived with him at the Cottage, and even before that, when they’d spent practically every night together, she’d never noticed. “You’re lying.”

“Rude.” Theo puffed out a cloud of smoke and flicked the cigarette so the ash fell by his feet. “You’re clearly biased. There are spells that keep it from being noticeable. He likely didn’t want you to fret over him or give him an infamous Hermione Granger lecture.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Then, she snatched the cigarette from Theo’s fingers and took a light drag from it. Her eyes watered as she coughed the toxic smoke out of her lungs. “Ugh, that’s foul. Why would you do this to yourself?”

Theo plucked the cigarette from her with narrowed eyes. “ _ This _ is why he kept it from you, Granger. You’re a much better person than the rest of us, with your aversion to vice and ability to fight the good fight while also being able to sleep at night.”

Hermione fidgeted with her fingers in her lap, trying to rub the nonexistent smoke stains from the pads of her fingers. She dropped her eyes to her lap and frowned. “I don’t think that’s true, actually. I’m not  _ better _ than anyone. I just… like to think that I’m making good choices. There’s nothing wrong with trying to do the right thing.”

Theo smashed the end of the cigarette into the crystal ashtray at his side, a deep smirk set into the sharp planes of his face. “You don’t say…'' he said, a tone to his voice that was too playful for her liking. Hermione braced herself for whatever he was about to say. He cocked his head to the side. “Hey—” he gasped, as if he was only  _ just _ realizing something, which she didn’t buy for a second. “Did you know that Draco was only trying to do the right thing when he ended things between the two of you?”

“Well, not at the time!” Hermione groused, throwing her balled up hands out and hitting Theo in the side. He shouted a quick ‘oi!’ and she bit her lip as she apologized. “He just hid in the shadows like a — well, I didn’t  _ know _ he’d been bitten at that point, did I? He was so cryptic and — he’s not very good at expressing himself, you know?”

Theo snorted. “Is anyone?”

“You and Harry seem to be on the same page all the time,” she grumbled and brought her hands back together on her lap.

She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard Theo crack a loud, honest laugh like the one he rewarded her with then, but Hermione found her attention drawn to the sound. It was pure and unabashed and prompted her lips to lift unwittingly.

“ Whenever Boy Wonder and I have to work something out, we do so like healthy adults,” Theo said, his body finally settling after his bout of laughter. “Usually he just agrees with me — you can get the bloke to agree to anything if you stroke him in the right—”

“Ugh, Theo!” Hermione covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. “Don’t make me listen to the details of my best friend’s sex life, please.”

“His  _ ego _ , Granger,” Theo tutted, tongue pressing into his cheek and eyes sparkling as her gaze met his. “Salazar’s pants, do you think of anything else?”

A heavy laugh left her, despite the fact that she wanted to throttle him. “Clearly not,” she said, her eyes rolling to the sky playfully. “Theo…” she hesitated, eyeing him carefully before deciding whether or not she wanted the answer to her next question. “Do you think he really regrets it— me, I mean?”

Theo shook his head emphatically. “Not a chance. Took Pans and I and a strong  _ Petrificus Totalis _ to talk him out of proposing marriage after you’d said yes to lunch.” He stood from the swing and offered her a sad smile. “He was mad for you, Granger.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she peered up at Theo. Her heart slammed in her throat, palms suddenly slick and cold from the night air. “Marriage? That’s mental! We hadn’t even gotten to the fifth date, and he wanted to propose before we’d had that first lunch?”

Theo ducked his head while rifling through his cloak. “Indeed, perhaps even before then, though he wasn’t ever sure you fancied him until you said yes to a date.” He retrieved the packet of cigarettes from his pocket and tossed it onto Hermione’s lap. She fumbled with it before gripping it tight in her fingers. “Bit of a shame now, though. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t marry you. Bloody laws.”

Theo left her sitting on her own, packet of cigarettes in her hands, staring blankly at the space he’d occupied. His words whirred around her brain, like a top spinning wildly near the edge of a table. Not only was considering the idea that Draco wanted to marry her dangerous, but it was impossibly futile.

But, as she toyed with the butt of a cigarette and worried her lip between her teeth, Hermione’s thoughts turned to the day Draco had asked her to lunch, and then to that brilliant smile he’d worn when she’d said yes.

It wasn’t until she noticed a dusting of tobacco covering her hand that Hermione realized she’d clenched it so tightly, she’d ruined the entire packet of cigarettes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, lovely reader, for bearing with me during a longer than normal wait for this chapter. I won't bore you with the details, but I needed some time to get my head straight. Chapter 12 is being finished and will be in the hands of my wonderful and supportive alpha and beta soon. My hope is to finish writing the story in its entirety before the end of February - fear not, if the updates do not come once per week, they _are_ coming. I can't thank you enough for all of the uplifting reactions to this little story. <3


	12. Power...Pleasure...Pain

_There is so much a man can tell you,  
so much he can say;  
You remain:  
my power,  
my pleasure,  
my pain.  
 ** _Kiss From a Rose, Seal_**_

  
  


Perpetua was a waif of a woman; thin and as shapeless as a pencil, with large green eyes and a pale, lightly wrinkled face. Hints of her former beauty still showed despite her age; probably due to potions that kept her black hair shiny, tonics that kept her cells rejuvenated, or pastes that left her appearing youthful even without makeup.

Cormac sat in Perpetua’s reception room at her Sheffield home. It was more modern than he would have expected for a witch of her age, though somehow it suited her just fine. She strode into the room carrying a tray of tea, wrapped in powder-blue robes, with a thin house elf trailing along at her feet.

“Do keep up, Ermengarde,” she sighed with a straight-lined grimace. “We haven’t got all the time in the world.” Perpetua set the tray down on the table in front of Cormac, her eyes sparkling at him. “Though, I do suppose we have more than some.”

“Yes, mistress,” Ermengarde squeaked as she began fluffing the pillow on Perpetua’s chair.

Cormac had never witnessed a better dressed house elf; she was swathed in her own set of robes, a matching color to her owner, with an elaborate hat perched atop her head that would have made the muggle’s royal family proud. Eemengarde stood to attention by her mistress’s side, snapping her fingers and using her magic to pour the tea into the tiny porcelain cups. One cup floated in front of Cormac’s face, and he grasped it gently.

“A lump of sugar, please,” Cormac asked the house elf, to which he received a dark grimace in return.

“Mistress isn’t keeping—” Ermengarde glanced to Perpetua and sighed as her mistress raised one dark, pointed brow. “Mistress _doesn’t keep_ sugar in her home.”

Cormac tried to keep a straight face, but found the earthy taste of his tea too powerful for his liking. He set the cup down on a coaster on a table to his right and looked at the elf with a winning grin.

“No matter!” He clapped his hands onto his knees and faced Perpetua’s amused face. “I’m here because—”

“Really?” Perpetua’s lips pursed. She pinned him with a strict look and sipped her tea slowly. “It’s been so long since you’ve visited, dumpling. Have I taught you nothing in the art of socializing? One doesn’t simply demand the direction of the conversation. One leads it there naturally, as if waltzing.”

Cormac looked properly chastised with his lips pinched and eyes downcast. It lasted all of three seconds and then he flashed dear old Perpetua with a brilliant, charming grin.

It took them forever to happen upon his reason for visiting. First they had to talk about Perpetua’s newest line of potions — a collection of brews to induce various emotional responses, a firewhisky-goggles brew that turned its imbiber absolutely gorgeous for an hour, and a potion she touted as a life replenisher, able to revive even those closest to death.

They all sounded terrible as far as Cormac was concerned, but the segue was perfect and so he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He aimed for casual, though his brown eyes sparkled excitedly despite his efforts.

“Speaking of near death,” he said, resting his chin in his palm, “there’s a bit of a vampire problem near Nottinghamshire — a muggle, no less!”

“Blasted creatures,” Perpetua scoffed as she swirled her golden spoon around her tea cup. “All the same, nothing but trouble.”

“Oh, yes. I agree, Pet.” Cormac glanced to his tea, desperate for a sip but not so desperate he’d drink the rubbish Perpetua had on offer. “The particular vampire causing a stir happens to be about as old as—” he coughed as she pinned him with a sharp glare, “What I mean is that I believe she was born around the same time as you. Obviously not as beautiful, of course.”

Perpetua’s tea cup clinked against its saucer and she snapped her fingers in the air. Ermengarde began to clear the tea cups and tray as Perpetua turned her body to face Cormac fully.

“There is one. A prissy little thing.” Perpetua pulled a face of distaste. “Shouldn’t be much trouble. The last I heard of Desdemona, she was shacked up with a rather quirky fellow in the Scottish highlands.”

“Which fellow?”

“He has a funny name— horrible. Wrong sort of man if you ask me. He doesn’t have your charm, my love.” Perpetua ran a finger down the side of Cormac’s cheek. “Though, he did have a certain allure about him for that girl in particular. She was positively enraptured with him.”

“This vampire — Desdemona — she’s causing quite an uproar with the Ministry and the new Order. Creating new vampires and holding court as if she’s royalty.”

“Oh, tosh.” Perpetua rested her hands against the rich brown armrest and settled back into her seat. “When we last met, she was determined to learn magic. Ha! As if our inherent ability to alter the fabric of the world could be taught to such a _dull_ woman. I heard she approached Albus once for admittance to Hogwarts. Cuthbert Binns informed me that he had never witnessed such a display — shrieking and cursing through the halls on her way out.”

“She wanted to learn magic?” Cormac filed that information away for later. “Being an immortal vampire wasn’t enough for her?”

“Immortality has gone to the dogs.” Perpetua merely lifted her chin, as if her statement was the answer he was looking for, before moving on. “When are you going to produce an heir, dumpling? Those genes won’t reproduce themselves, you know. It’s been so long since I’ve had a babe in my home.”

All the air whooshed out of his lungs. He choked and pressed his fist to his mouth as he coughed around his surprise at her question.

“No, no. No children for me yet.” He forced a smile. “Pet, it’s important that I have all the facts to take back to the Order. What else can you tell me about this vampire?”

Perpetua waved a hand between them. “We’ve moved on from this topic. Desdemona won’t be a problem for a strapping young lad such as you. She couldn’t discern her arse from her elbow.”

He beamed under the praise, and knew well enough not to push it.

* * *

The residual effects of The Lure still coursed through Hermione’s veins. At least that’s what she told herself over and over again. All of the books she’d consulted gave very specific details regarding the longevity of the — for lack of a better word in Hermione’s view — _curse_ ; it would only last longer if she imbibed more of Draco’s blood, or if she remained in close proximity to him. Neither of those things had been the case, but she refused to acknowledge that the thrumming curiosity about the softness of his lips and the warm, velvety touch of his tongue, were anything other than a magical bond.

Hermione spent extra time in the shower desperately trying to alleviate the problem. She remained under the stream until the water ran cold. Even then, she persisted until she was spent and panting, shivering as her skin broke out in goosebumps.

The only thing her time in the shower eased was her incessant need to climax. Otherwise, thoughts of Draco still haunted her; how he had held her close at the masquerade, the way his breath ghosted along her skin, the intensity of his eyes, how his canines popped over his lip just for her.

Bollocks, she already wanted another bout of alone time in the shower. But Cormac was due to return at any time and she knew her body was too sensitive to have another go. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as she reached for a fluffy, crimson towel and dried herself off. She ignored the thoughts of Draco’s hands caressing her instead of the towel, tried not to think that it could be his lips kissing her neck instead of her wet ringlets of hair against her skin.

Somehow, Hermione was orgasmed-out and still unsatisfied as she twisted the towel around her head and dragged another to cover her naked body. The walk to her bedroom was a cold one as her feet padded along the wooden floors. She could hear Harry and Theo speaking downstairs, laughing with one another as they waited for her to join them. She grimaced; guilt raced through her as she wished she could ignore their happiness in order to deal with her own loneliness.

Hermione sat at the small dressing table in her room with one leg crossed over the other and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her skin was more radiant than ever; the complexion perfectly blemish free. Her lips were red and plump, as if they’d been kissed recently. Her eyes were bright, the golden flecks within the brown glittered back at her. These were the effects of Draco’s blood — none of this was the real Hermione Granger. It was all illusions and vampire magic. She sighed and pulled the towel from her hair, tossing it to the side and promising herself she’d get it to the laundry basket later.

“I didn’t have you pegged for living like a slob.”

Shock forced her spine to straighten. Hermione quickly turned her chin and found Draco standing in her door frame, one shoulder leaning casually against it, with his arms crossed over his chest. His lips twitched with a restrained smile, and even from her short distance away Hermione could see the glinting black of his pupils overtaking the striking grey that stared back at her.

She swallowed hard, feeling a knot in her throat. “What are you doing here?”

In her room. While she was covered in only a towel. Hermione was hyper aware of the skin exposed to him; of drops of water rolling down her upper back.

“You’re being summoned by Scarhead. McLaggen returned from whatever it is he’s been doing.” His eyes dipped from hers, following the trail of droplets on her skin. She didn’t miss the sharp teeth that popped over his bottom lip. “You’re needed in the War Room.”

“I can hardly go down there like this.” Hermione assumed that would prompt him to leave, but instead he stayed where he was. She turned back to her mirror. For a moment, she had forgotten that he didn’t have a reflection and she had expected to see him staring back at her, but her doorway was empty. Still, she knew he was there by the way her skin prickled at the back of her neck. “How long have you been standing there?”

He moved then, pushing himself from the door frame and into her room where she could see him. In her private space. A place that she’d fantasized about him being in, in a not too dissimilar situation. Only, in her fantasies, Draco’s clothes were discarded and she was lying on her bed. Now, though, he stood beside her and she stole a deep breath in an attempt to calm her nerves.

“Long enough to see you struggle to know how beautiful you are,” he said, his voice holding an air of certainty about it that went straight to her still sensitive core. His fingers slid against her bare shoulder and she had to suppress a shudder. “My blood should be out of your system, and yet I can still hear the thundering of your heart.”

Hermione stood and backed away from his touch with her hand clasped on the edge of her towel. “Maybe you gave me too much of it, then, and it’s still there—” Draco moved towards her, his sharp teeth on display. “There hasn’t been enough research into the length of time a vampire’s blood affects a mortal’s cognitive function. It could be—”

Draco stood so close. She lifted her chin to look into his eyes and found his irises being swallowed up by black pupils. He raised a hand and placed his palm against her throat, his thumb nudging her jaw to the side. Her neck was on display and her pulse jumped at the contact.

“The longest recorded Lure was in nineteen seventy-five after an unfortunate edging incident involving a muggle. Nearly exsanguinated and then pumped full of vampire blood.” Draco’s lips twitched as he maneuvered his body ever closer. His head tilted down, eyes level with hers and she nearly choked on her breath. “Lasted two days. This — what you’re feeling — is _desire_ , not the Lure.”

Even with his cold hand against her skin, Hermione’s temperature rose. Blood pooled in her cheeks and she felt the blotchy, red stains crawling up her neck. She swallowed hard and watched Draco’s lips rise higher as he realized how affected she’d been by his words.

Draco’s eyes dipped to her lips, and Merlin save her — she wasn’t going to stop him. It’d been so long, she’d missed him so much, and with the adrenaline of recent events still coursing through her veins, Hermione couldn’t find the strength to push him away.

There was a literal inch between their lips before the moment came crashing down thanks to an abrupt knock on her open door. Hermione jumped away from Draco and nearly lost her towel in the process. She spun on her heel to find Theo’s tall frame just outside her bedroom door. He wore a grin that would rival the Cheshire Cat’s.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said as he lifted his eyebrows in an innocent waggle. “Truly. I’ve been sent to fetch you both for Potter.”

“Fuck Potter.” Draco growled the words with so much force that Hermione startled.

“Oh, I do.” Theo grinned and tossed a sly wink at Hermione, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It wasn’t; Hermione rolled her eyes. “Quite regularly, as it happens. It’s one of the reasons I’m such a happy chappy most days. You two should try—”

“Get. Out.” Hermione stormed to her door and glared at Theo. “Both of you, get out of my room.”

When they were both over the threshold of her door, Hermione slammed it shut and leaned against it until she caught her breath.

No Lure meant that her feelings for Draco hadn’t gone anywhere. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face such a revelation.

* * *

“And she didn’t tell you who this vampire was?” Harry’s arms were crossed over his chest and he had a skeptical arch to his brow as he stared across the table at Cormac. “You didn’t think to ask?”

Cormac, who was staring at his hazy reflection in the window of The War Room, sighed and ran a hand through his floppy hair. “I told you, Harry. Perpetua cut me off when she got bored. She’s not interested in the affairs of the Ministry.”

“We’re not the Ministry, though,” Hermione pointed out, even though she knew her argument was probably futile. Cormac shrugged in response and ran a finger along his jawline. “So you learned absolutely nothing. We still have no more information about Desdemona.”

“That’s not entirely accurate.”

Hermione cut her gaze to Theo, whose hands were clasped together on top of the table. She raised an eyebrow and pinched her lips, ignoring the proximity of the vampire to her right. He hadn’t sat so near to her during an Order meeting before, and now she could barely breathe due to his relentless presence.

Theo continued, pressing himself back into his chair and directing his words to Draco. “Quirky fellow? Those were Perpetua’s words. Sound like someone you know, Draco?”

Hermione swung her face to the side, so quickly that she felt a pop in her neck, and watched as Draco chewed on Theo’s words silently. His head tilted to the side, eyes tightening, as he and Theo stared at one another.

“Sanguini and… _her?_ ” Draco snorted, and then let a genuine huff of laughter escape him. His fingers splayed over the table and he stared down at them, apparently deep in thought. “Has to be. He’s been reckless since word of her coven reached him. Sanguini went years — _decades_ — without creating any progeny and then…”

Hermione’s heart broke for Draco as his voice tapered off. He hadn’t asked to become a vampire, hadn’t asked for Sanguini to change him into one of these creatures, whose rights were being stripped away by the Ministry and who were facing possible execution simply for existing. He hadn’t asked for it, and to make matters worse, it sounded as if Desdemona’s sudden arrival in the UK had spurred Sanguini to create progeny like Draco.

Without thinking, Hermione reached over and took Draco’s hand in hers. She couldn’t look at him without blushing and so she kept her eyes on Theo, whose face lit up in another devilish grin. Her tension melted away, however, when Draco’s fingers tightened around her hand?.

“Right.” Harry rubbed his temples and sighed. “So, Desdemona wanted to learn magic and she slept with Sanguini. Sounds as if we need to bring Sanguini in for questioning.”

“Horrible idea,” Draco said. “Sanguini isn’t going to give an audience to you simply because you’re The Boy Who Lived — he would have lived, too.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Cormac turned from his reflection in the window — honestly, Hermione had almost forgotten he was there in the first place — and eyed Draco warily. “Vampires can’t be killed using Avada Kedavra?”

Draco’s fingers twitched against hers as he turned to address Cormac.“The lore is straightforward. Decapitate, exsanguinate, sunlight exposure— unless you’re magical and cast a shield charm. Avada Kedavra stops the heart.” His lips raised, though Hermione noticed the way his eyes tightened and jaw ticked. “Vampires don’t have a beating heart.”

Cormac’s body jerked as he huffed. “Creepy, that’s what it is.”

Draco snarled under his breath and Hermione kicked him under the table. He turned to her with a raised, pale brow, and she bit her lip to suppress a smile at the petulant curve of his lips.

She mouthed slowly: “Behave.”

He barely inclined his chin and turned toward Cormac again. “You should come with me to speak to Sanguini.”

“Pardon?” Cormac’s face drained of all color and he fell softly against the back of his chair. Even his hair seemed to lose a little bit of its bounce. “I don’t think—”

“Perfect!” Harry clapped his hands together and stood from the table. “Cormac can interrogate Sanguini and bring the memories here for review. Theo will work on the reformed Sacred Twenty-Eight vote on the Vampire Bill. Hermione and I will refine the plan for the bloodletting ceremony in Nottinghamshire.”

“But—”

“We’ll meet back here at nightfall, just before Draco and Hermione are set to leave?” Harry glanced around the room, ignoring Cormac’s protests. Without another word, he walked from the room with Theo on his heels.

“Is he mad?” Cormac asked as he stood from his chair and stared at the empty space Harry had occupied before fleeing. “Sending _me_ — with _my_ jawline — into a coven of vampires? Does he have any idea how sweet the McLaggen blood is?”

Draco stood and tugged Hermione to her feet along with him. He glanced at Cormac, and then his eyes fell to her face. He smiled, a wolfish thing that showed off the pointed tips of his canine teeth, and leaned down to her ear.

“I’ve smelt better,” he whispered, before dragging his lips along her cheekbone.

Her entire body sang, from the depths of her soul to the tips of her toes. If she simply moved her lips to the side, just a tiny breadth of space, their lips would touch and—

Draco moved out of her space with frustrating, vampirish finesse and grabbed onto Cormac’s arm. He let his gaze linger on her for a moment and she swore he could read every one of her inappropriate thoughts. He smirked and then with a quiet _crack_ , they were gone.

Harry could wait. Hermione was in need of another shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh friends, I thank you so kindly for being so patient for this chapter. Updates will still be steady, though may be 2 weeks between each update rather than 1 to allow time for my wonderful, selfless, talented alpha (mcal) and beta (Lunamionny) to do their magic while I try and get the last few chapters of this story on paper. Thank you so much for following along, for every kudo, comment, rec, and read. You all are fantastic and I appreciate you. <3


	13. Far From The Shallow

_I'm off the deep end, watch as I dive in  
I'll never meet the ground  
Crash through the surface, where they can't hurt us  
We're far from the shallow now  
**Shallow, Lady Gaga & Bradley Cooper**_

  
  
  


Draco appeared in a large entryway amid a crack of apparition. Cormac hung onto his arm, tighter than necessary and, even when Draco shook him off, it took far too much effort.

Draco’s dragonhide boots clicked on the ceramic as he moved through the home towards Sanguini’s study. Several long hallways, a hidden passage, and a charmed fireplace separated the ancient vampire from his front door. Overkill, but not outside the typical quirkiness Draco had come to find in his sire.

Draco rapped his fingers on the frame of an open door, but Sanguini didn’t bother to look up. Instead, he continued to gaze down at a ratty, old book, gently turning its worn and yellow pages with seemingly brittle fingers. 

“I’ve brought a guest,” Draco said as he stepped over the threshold and into the warm glow of the room. The earthy scent of dusty books assaulted his senses; if he still had a functional respiratory system, he’d have sneezed. “And we have a few questions.”

Cormac shadowed Draco closely; every graceful step he took, the floppy-haired idiot was half a step behind. Sanguini continued to turn the pages of his book, eyes scanning the text at a rapid pace. If Draco hadn’t known that a vampire brain could absorb information so quickly, he’d accuse his sire of faking it and ignoring his guests.

“Can he see us?” Cormac whispered and pressed his shoulder into Draco’s back. “I’ve heard that old vampires lose their sight—and their hearing. He’s not very impressive, is he? Good looking, though, for his age.”

Cormac hadn’t been lying about how sweet his blood smelled. Draco didn’t even know the last time he’d fed, but the fact he was considering the blood of a wizard, rather than an animal, disgusted him. He moved away from Cormac, putting distance between them lest he lose control and rip his throat out.

He didn’t bother looking back at Cormac as he answered. “He’s exceptional at ignoring distractions. And you, McLaggen, are an enormous distraction.”

“He can’t just pretend we’re not here.” Cormac took a bold step towards Sanguini. His hands were stuffed into his pockets and he wore a stupid, smarmy grin on his face. “We’re guests, after all. He can’t have many of those—and it’s no wonder why.”

“McLagg—”

Draco’s voice was cut off as Sanguini rose swiftly from his seat on the luxury, leather sofa. The book lay forgotten in his wake. Black eyes stared at them and a menacing growl ripped from Sanguini’s mouth as he flashed his sharp teeth at them. Draco swallowed, his throat like sandpaper, but he was powerless against his sire’s whims. He stood quiet and still as Sanguini moved towards Cormac.

“You are a very pretty man.” Sanguini’s finger traveled the length of Cormac’s sharp jaw, and Draco’s entire body tensed. “Your blood—it’s as sweet as chocolate, isn’t it?”

“Probably.” Cormac cracked a grin. “Never tried it, if I’m honest.”

It took every fiber of Draco’s willpower to maintain his composure. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to smack Cormac around his floppy blond head, or if he wanted to explain to Sanguini that the git was already insufferable enough as it was; no need to fill his head with nonsense about the quality of his blood. In the end, Draco stood eerily still and volleyed his gaze between the two as they engaged in their—whatever the hell it was.

“I can make you invulnerable,” Sanguini said as his fingers curled around Cormac’s perfectly square chin. “I can give you the entire world.”

Cormac’s eyes glittered. He raised his hand to Sanguini’s and rested his palm over it. “Tell me more.”

“Fucking hell,” Draco muttered, rubbing the notch between his brows. “We don’t have time for this. Sire, can you save the eye-fucking for later?”

“You have always been too tetchy, Draco.” Sanguini dragged Cormac to his seat and settled in next to him. “You know how important it is for me to have beauty  _ and _ power in my coven. This young man will make a fine addition.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it.” Draco rolled his eyes to the ceiling and took a seat on the arm of a chair across from them. “Listen, Sanguini, we have a delicate situation involving one of your former… acquaintances.”

Sanguini inclined his chin, his fingers roving over the muscles of Cormac’s arm, almost lovingly in their gentle strokes. Draco tried so bloody hard to keep from snapping at his sire, especially as Cormac was grinning like a muppet over the fawning attention he was getting from a centuries-old vampire.

“I have quite a few former acquaintances, precious one.” Draco cringed at the moniker, but Sanguini prattled on regardless. “It does no good for you to pussyfoot around the subject. If you expect me to assist, you will need to use your grown up words.”

Draco clenched his teeth and spoke through them. “We need more information regarding Desdemona.” Sanguini paused his inappropriate fondling of Cormac—who didn’t appear to care one bit that an aloof vampire was sweetening him up for a  _ meal _ —and exposed his sharp teeth with a hiss. “Please.”

“She’s back in England?”

“Yes, sire,” Draco said with a slight nod of his head. “She’s been back for several months, from my understanding.”

Sanguini stood, a fluid movement that would have appeared unnatural if Draco hadn’t witnessed it on multiple occasions during the past year. “I knew it,” he whispered to himself, his fists balling up at his sides.

“She’s created quite the issue for the Ministry of Magic.” Draco purposefully left out the Order of the Phoenix. “It appears that she’s creating an…army.”

In a flash, Sanguini had picked up a glass vase from a nearby table and threw it into the wall to Draco’s right. “The woman cannot simply leave a man to his eternal life in  _ peace _ .”

“Sire?” Draco inclined his chin, canting it just so. His gaze flicked to Cormac, who had perched himself on the edge of the sofa and watched his new vampire friend with a dopey, lovesick expression. “What is your history with her?”

Sanguini sank to the sofa and appeared to stare off into nothing, his pointed fingernail poking into his chin as he slipped deeper into his thoughts. “We were paramours.” The term rolled off his tongue lovingly. He blinked, lips twitching at whatever memory he dragged up. “Nearly betrothed by the old laws and the new.”

Draco tried to picture it; Sanguini in his leatherwear, looking every bit a pirate rogue, and Desdemona, draped in the brightest pink and dazzling, gaudy jewelry. He frowned and squinted, trying to imagine the two vampires as old lovers, but couldn’t quite make them fit. Sanguini seemed to have noticed and laughed.

“Times have not changed quite as much as you’d expect, youngling,” Sanuini said as he reached for Cormac and drew him against his side. “The good girls still fancy themselves with a bad boy.”

Draco’s frown turned into a disgusted grimace; he didn’t really need the visual if he were honest. “She’s not all that good though, is she?”

“Oh, she  _ was  _ good.” Sanguini smirked as Cormac laid his head on his shoulder. He patted the side of Cormac’s head as if he were a puppy. “Desperate for magic and power, mind you. But she was a good girl—liked being told so, too.” He raised Cormac’s wrist to his lips and ran his nose along the throbbing vein. “Do you like being told you’re good, sweet?”

Cormac made a noise of assent and his eye fluttered closed.

_ Imbecile _ , Draco thought as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Right. So, what happened between the two of you, then? Can you give us any information at all to put a stop to her... activities in Nottinghamshire?”

Sanguini’s teeth scraped along Cormac’s perfectly tan skin. “You say ‘we’ and ‘us’. Who are you working with? Who is trying to stop my former paramour from her dastardly deeds?”

Merlin and all the ancient Gods, did he loathe his sire. Draco’s nostrils flared and he jammed his molars together. “As I’ve pointed out, she is creating a problem for the Ministry. She’s turning more muggles than can be managed, and she’s risking the Statute of Secrecy, which is prompting the Ministry to draw up legislation that will round up vampires and have us slaughtered.”

“Oh-ho, I’d like to see them try.” Sanguini sunk his teeth into Cormac’s wrist and closed his eyes. When he opened them and pulled away, his eyes were onyx and his lips covered in dark red blood.

Cormac’s eyes fluttered shut and he tipped his head back along the back of the sofa. The vein in his neck throbbed, and Draco licked the corner of his lip.

It had been far too long since Draco had fed. The sugary scent of Cormac’s blood hit him, and he began to salivate. His entire body thrummed at the prospect of fresh, human blood. Wrenching his gaze away from the steady stream pouring from Cormac’s wrist, Draco snapped his mouth closed around his sharp canines and tried to occlude his mind against the onslaught of hunger.

“Sire— _ please _ . Tell me what you know.”

Sanguini’s tongue slipped over Cormac’s bloody wrist and he smiled at Draco, looking every part a madman. “Des is a squib, pet.” He licked the point of his tooth. “She knows deeply of magic, and she’ll stop at nothing to harness it.”

Well, _ that _ was a revelation.

Sanguini didn’t even bother to wait for Draco to reply, instead he hitched Cormac’s wrist to his mouth and closed his lips over the flow of blood once again. He moaned and Cormac made a noise deep in his throat as he placed his free hand to the back of Sanguini’s head.

“Yes—right there, oh  _ Merlin— _ ”

Draco opened his mouth to ask more, but his sire flicked his fingers and dismissed him. It was a command he couldn’t ignore, and so he scowled as he left Sanguini’s drawing room with very little information to help the Order. Even though Draco had very little affection for the twat personally, part of him wondered if Cormac would leave the castle human. It wasn’t likely, and given how Draco had grappled with being turned into a vampire, he wore a genuine scowl until he disapparated from Sanguini’s doorstep.

_ Fucking vampires _ .

* * *

“I was chucked out of Sanguini’s home.” Draco crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, his face a mask of calm. “Cormac’s…well, he’ll probably lament the loss of his reflection for a long time to come.”

“Cormac?” Hermione arched a brow and mimicked his stance. “You didn’t let Sanguini turn him—please tell me you didn’t.”

He shrugged. “Nothing I could do about it. What my sire commands is not for me to argue.”

Hermione was prepared for a fight, shoulders squared and spine straight. She opened her mouth to retaliate, but never got the chance. Harry, Theo, Tracey, and Dudley all marched into the War Room one after another and effectively stopped her argument in its tracks.

“Dudley and I are going to Desdemona’s coven now,” Tracey said as she planted her butt against the tabletop. She chewed on a piece of gum and rested her head against Dudley’s shoulder. “The Bloodletting Ceremony is due to start just after midnight, and rumor has it that the girl they’re draining for the ceremony is being kept in Desdemona’s dungeon.”

“Dungeon?” Harry lifted his eyebrows and ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea for Hermione and Malfoy to go alone, without the rest of the Order. Last time—”

“Last time was a reconnaissance mission gone wrong,” Hermione said, her voice brokering no room for argument. “This time, we know exactly what to expect and we have a mission. We have a portkey to get the muggle straight to Mungo’s—she’ll be taken care of there and Desdemona won’t even know we were at the ceremony.”

“Save the muggle.” Theo glanced at Draco and grinned. “Never thought we’d champion  _ that _ cause, eh?”

“Sanguini said that Des has some form of magic.” He turned fully towards Harry. “But she wants more—she’s a squib, apparently mad at her lot in life.”

“She’s like a… hot Filch,” Theo said, a ridiculous laugh following his words. Both Harry and Draco followed suit, but Hermione groaned.

“I don’t know why you think this is so funny,” she contended, her prim brow raised as her eyes darted between the three of them. “Filch leeched off of witches like Umbridge and wizards like Snape. That comparison does little to make me feel warm and fuzzy.”

“Plus, it’s disturbing.” Theo added, pulling a face. “Imagine  _ that _ relationship.”

The boys were all quiet for several moments. 

Hermione sighed while placing a hand on her hip and turning to Tracey and Dudley. “Do you know anything else about the dungeon? How do we get down there, will anyone be watching? Anything at all you can tell us?”

* * *

Desdemona’s bloodletting ceremony required its male attendees to wear black and its female attendees to wear white, which seemed like a terrible idea given the nature of the ceremony. However, Hermione abided by the requirement and side-along apparated with Draco in a flowing gown of ivory, into the middle of a forest, much like the previous time they’d traveled to Nottinghamshire.

There wasn’t going to be any hanging about and mingling with the coven. Straight in, down the stairs to the dungeon that Dudley had described as ‘scary as fuck’, and then straight out with the muggle girl knocked unconscious. Simple. Easy-peasy.

Hermione glanced at Draco, who withdrew his wand from the inside pocket of his cloak. “We can’t stun the guards. If someone finds them, they’ll swarm the dungeon before we’re able to get the girl out.”

“What do you suggest then, Granger?” Draco lifted his judgey, perfectly sculpted eyebrows. She hadn’t noticed before, but the underneath his eyes were bruised, and his lips were stricter than normal—no sign of his fangs at all. “If anyone recognizes us, we’re bollocksed anyway, and those guards have laid eyes on me before.”

There didn’t seem to be an alternative to stunning the guards, but Hermione didn’t like the idea. It was the first in a very long list of things that could go wrong. Their plan was becoming more foolish than not with every moment. Hermione sighed and pulled her wand from the holster on her thigh.

“Fine. We stun them. But—” She pointed her finger at Malfoy and narrowed her eyes. “We have to Obliviate the memories, otherwise we’re never going to get back out of there.”

Draco nodded and led them to the front gate of the castle where two burly guards stood watch. The closest to Hermione grunted and the other cracked his knuckles and glared menacingly at Draco’s approach.

“Oi, Louie, look ‘oo decided ta’show ‘is face again.” The guard bared his crooked teeth and took a step forward.

Hermione didn’t hesitate; she silently stunned him and turned her wand on the other, bigger man. Both fell to the ground, face first within seconds of each other, and Draco bent over each of them, muttering  _ “Obliviate” _ with his wand at their temples.

She hopped from foot to foot, craning her neck to take stock of the space around them. It appeared deserted as far as she could tell, but she still didn’t want to stay too long to find out. She reached over and tugged on Draco’s sleeve.

“C’mon—let’s go.”

He allowed himself to be dragged through the gate and into the front door of the castle. The entryway was lit with a beautiful, warm yellow hue, and a plush, red carpet led the way to the same grand ballroom they’d been attacked in the last time they were there. Hermione urged Draco in the other direction, hoping that no one would notice they weren’t following the path laid out for guests.

“Dudley said to the left, down a long corridor, and enter the door next to the portrait of the mustachioed man.” Hermione’s eyes flicked around the hall as they walked, trying to find the portrait that Dudley had described. Further and further they went, before turning a corner—the only direction they could head—and continuing on.

“Does something feel  _ off _ to you?” Draco moved ever closer to her. “Someone’s watching us.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione said, a tight, nervous chuckle escaping her. She glanced at the nearest portrait—a woman in furs with a large, flowery hat perched on her head—and then she felt it. Something...watching. “Oh, that’s creepy. Okay, let’s hurry. It shouldn’t be much further, surely.”

It wasn’t. But eventually they found the portrait of the mustachioed man hanging near the end of a long corridor in a gilded frame. He looked like a tycoon, with a mustache that was so exaggerated it could be a cartoon. He wore a bowler hat, a bow tie, and thick, brown suspenders.

Hermoine swore she saw his eyes move to follow them towards the door next to his portrait. “Draco.” She stepped into his body and nudged him to look at the man whose eyes were now facing forward. “I think these are magical paintings.”

“Maybe she nicked them.” Draco wrapped his hand around the handle of the door and pushed it open. The door creaked, and led to a set of narrow stairs that went down into darkness. “We lose the high ground in a dungeon, you know.”

She’d honestly tried not to think of it that way. But, he wasn’t wrong—as much as it pained her to admit it. If they were caught, they were buggered.

“After you then.” Hermione gestured for him to go first and received a very condescending look from him. She sneered, a proper one that Malfoy could appreciate, and jutted her chin in the direction of the dark dungeon. “Unless you’re too scared?”

He swore, and took the stairs two at a time. His footsteps echoed and, as she followed him, Hermione closed the door behind her. When they reached the bottom of the steps, she collided with Draco’s back. She steadied herself by placing her hands on his hips.

“This is…” Draco whispered as his head turned from side to side.

The smell hit her first. Blood and ammonia sent a jolt of nausea through her. “Disgusting.”

Hermione peeked around his tall body and her mouth dropped open. The dungeon was a large room, with four cages on either side—eight in total. Each was lit up with torchlight beside them, casting eerie shadows across the room. Two of the cages had bodies inside. She gasped, and maneuvered herself around Draco to the closest cage. It had tall, thick bars that were covered in bumpy black paint, and offered her a clear view of the person inside. A girl, probably in her early twenties, with long red hair and a pale, freckled face, sat against the far wall, furthest from the door of the cage.

“Are you hurt?” Hermione asked the girl, giving her a cursory look for any obvious injuries. She spotted nothing and the girl shook her head. Poking her wand to the lock, Hermione muttered, “ _ Alohomora _ .”

Draco moved off somewhere behind her, and spoke in a low voice to the other prisoner. The cage door made a harsh, high-pitched noise as it swung open. The girl scrambled to her feet and bolted out of her confined space. She cried and crushed herself to Hermione’s body.

“It’s okay,” Hermione said in a low, soothing voice. “It’s okay. We’ve got you. Draco—” She half-turned her body to see Draco with a man hanging from his shoulder, thick and covered in several puncture wounds that leaked a steady flow of dark blood.

He turned to face her and his eyes were blown wide, with purple welts underneath, and the whites of his eyes nearly all black. She almost dropped the redheaded girl to the ground.

“Let’s go.” His voice was a snarl that ripped from his throat, the most feral noise she’d ever heard.

It snapped her into motion, and she carried-dragged the redhead up the stairs, both of them with their shoulders pressed against the stone wall. When they arrived at the door, Hermione steadied the girl with her legs and one arm, using her other to open it and peer outside. The coast looked clear, so she shoved the door fully open and stumbled into the corridor.

“What’s your name?” Hermione asked the girl as she jostled her to get a firmer grip around her waist.

“Emily,” she whispered, voice hoarse as if she’d been screaming for days. “I think there’s something wrong with these people, they looked like...like…”

“This one’s bleeding all over my suit.” Draco shifted in front of Hermione and Emily.

Emily screamed and Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth. “He’s a friend. We’re friends. Emily, I need you to listen to me. I’ll take my hand off your mouth, but you have to promise me you won’t scream, okay?” The girl nodded and Hermione removed her hand. “Good, right. Okay, we are going to send you somewhere safe, somewhere you can be treated for your wounds, alright? But you have to trust us.”

“Granger—” Draco’s voice came as a warning, low and impossibly strained. “Someone’s coming; I can hear them around the corn—”

Hermione whipped herself around, scrambling with Emily in tow. At the far end of the corridor, two lean, tall men began to sprint towards them.

“Draco, take her. I can…” She clutched her wand and held it aloft. “Give them the portkey, make them hold onto one another for support. You and I can disapparate— _ Impedimenta! _ —”

She didn’t wait for Draco to answer; she shoved Emily onto his body and hoped that he’d wrap his arm around her to support her. Hermione dashed forwards and thrust her wand out, tossing spell after spell at the men, who dodged them quickly. Vampires, they had to be.

“Granger!” Draco shouted at her, but she didn’t stop running until she reached her assailants in front of the portrait of the woman in furs. She thought she caught the woman’s eyes moving out of the corner of her eye, but didn’t have time to investigate. “Granger, fuck’s  _ sake _ —”

Hermione focused all of her might on non-verbal spells:  _ Confringo—Stupefy—Locomotor Mortis. _ It was the last one that finally struck one of the two and he tumbled down onto his face while the other stood just feet shy of Hermione. He growled, baring his pointy fangs, and Hermione swallowed as she tried to think of something, anything, to take him down.

He lunged and she shrieked as she stabbed her wand forward and into his eye. Just as she pulled it from the bleeding, swollen socket, amid yelling and long arms swiping at her body, a hand closed around her shoulder, and the corridor around her disappeared.

* * *

They appeared just outside Potter Cottage. In the dead of night, Godric’s Hollow was quiet and lit only by a sliver of silvery moonlight. Hermione’s ivory dress was filthy from the dungeon floors and the forest. She was out of breath and running high on adrenaline as she turned towards Draco, ready to berate him for disapparating them before she’d finished off the second vampire. 

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but before she could do so, Draco rounded on her with an angry scowl and wide, blackened eyes. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

He crowded her, backing her into the door of the cottage. Hermione pressed her hands to his chest and shoved at him. “I did what I had to do. Emily would have died had I not—”

“You!” Draco growled and boxed Hermione in between his hands. His face was inches from hers, and his sharp teeth poked at his bottom lip. “ _ You  _ could have died.”

“I wouldn’t have—”

Something collided with the door next to her head—his fist, maybe—and Hermione snapped her mouth shut again.

He spoke in the calmest voice, a deadly control softening his words. “Do you have a death wish? Or do you just like to drive me mad by risking your life?”

They stared at one another. Hermione wasn’t sure how to answer; of course she didn’t have a death wish, but she’d never sit idly by and allow someone to come to harm if she could help it. Never. She opened her mouth to protest, but watched as Draco’s eyes flicked to her lips. Her breath hitched, and her stomach squirmed.

His lips touched hers with barely enough pressure for her to register the feeling, before he pulled back and looked her in the eyes again. Blackness overtook his irises as his tongue darted out and slipped along his canines. Hermione clenched her hands, fisting his cloak in her fingers. She’d forgotten how soft his lips were, how perfectly they fit over hers.

A breath escaped her, and then he kissed her again—quicker, firmer—as his hands moved to her hair and tangled in the roots. He made a noise in the back of his throat and pressed his body against hers, pinning her against the door. The sharp points of his teeth slid along her tongue and she moaned. Hermione unhooked the buttons of his cloak and shoved her hands under his shirt. His muscles jumped under her touch and he kissed her even harder.

Trailing her fingers against Draco’s hard abdomen, Hermione traced the top of his trousers and then yanked him even closer. His hard erection pressed against her hip and he hissed. His tooth suddenly snagged on her lip and he jumped away from her.

He stared down at her lips, looking positively feral as she swiped at them and found hot, sticky blood that he’d drawn.

“I didn’t mean—”

Hermione brought her blood coated finger to his lips and smeared the blood against them. A snarl ripped from Draco’s throat, and she was crushed between his body and the door again in an instant, with this tongue in her mouth demanding more from her. He gave her no time at all to consider the taste of her own blood as he deepened the kiss. He hitched his arm around her waist and didn’t allow for even a hair's breadth between them.

She forgot how  _ good _ he felt, how solid he was underneath her fingertips. Merlin, she could kiss Draco Malfoy until the end of time and it still wouldn’t be enough.

They stayed lip-locked for what felt like forever, groping and nipping and tugging. As Draco’s lips descended to her throat, Hermione tilted her head up and gazed at the starry sky. His teeth grazed her skin and her pulse fluttered like a snitch’s wings; her body craved his bite, but her mind snapped to attention. She placed her hands onto his chest and shoved at him, lips curling as he growled and pulled back.

“I don’t have much self control left.”

A laugh bubbled up to her lips. “I don’t think we want to shag in the garden.”

“Speak for yourself.” Draco ran his fingers through her hair and tucked a springy strand of her curls behind her ear.

She grinned at him. “Technically, we still haven’t been on a fifth date.”

With his palm flat against the door, Draco leaned down and placed a kiss at one corner of her lips and then the other. “Technically, a masquerade ball counts as a date.”

“Not when it ends in me nearly dying.”

“I wouldn’t have allowed that to happen.” He said it with such resolve, it dashed the playful buzz in the air and replaced it with something more serious.“Go out with me, Granger. A proper fifth date.”

Hermione wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him in close again. She mumbled her agreement and then captured his lips in hers.

It was some time later when they finally separated; Hermione’s lips swollen and red and Draco’s eyes the deepest black she’d ever seen—like pools of black diamonds.

“Oi! I know you two are having a moment or whatever—”

Hermione startled in Draco’s arms, but he refused to let her go. Instead, he held her just as close, but turned his face to the side in the direction of Theo’s voice. She followed Draco’s gaze and found Theo’s disembodied head poking out of the window.

“We have a bit of an emergency here.”

“A  _ bit _ ?” Harry’s voice echoed. “It’s more than a bit. Tell them to get their arses inside now.”

Theo leveled them with a serious glare and lifted a brow. “You heard Boy Wonder. In you come.”

The window slammed shut, leaving Draco and Hermione alone in their post-kiss, awkward embrace. She slowly brought her gaze back to Draco, who was staring at her intensely through wide, black eyes.

His lips were stained red as they lifted at the corners. “Sounds ominous.”

“Doesn’t it always?” Hermione reached behind her and twisted the doorknob. She tangled her fingers in Draco’s and led him into the cottage where Harry and Theo stood waiting. “What’s up?”

Harry, bless him, lifted a finger to the underside of his bottom lip and pretended to wipe it off. Hermione mimicked the motion and Harry nodded at her, not bothering to hide the downward turn of his lips as she smudged the blood onto her ivory dress.

“There’s been an incident,” Theo explained, after a silent exchange of eye contact with Draco. “After you two left the coven tonight with those two muggles, Tracey got wind from one of her contacts. Desdemona had a bit of a meltdown—went on a rampage in the local town.”

“What?” Hermione stepped closer to Harry, her hand falling out of Draco’s. “A rampage?”

“The Ministry’s going to be out for vampire blood now,” Harry said, nodding his head towards Draco. “You’ll want to stay here rather than at Sanguini’s. We can make up a light-tight room for you until we sort this out.”

Hermione’s head swiveled to catch Draco’s eyes flash, his grey iris swallowing up the black. “Yeah, right. I should send a note to Sanguini. He’ll need to prepare his wards.”

“Get a note out to Dudley to stay away from Desdemona’s castle from now on,” Theo said to Harry. “She might have put two and two together by now.” Harry gave one firm nod and left the room. Theo cracked a grin and rocked on his heels. “Sooooo, what’s new with the pair of you?”

Draco and Hermione glanced at one another, and without a word, Hermione hurried after Harry.

Nothing was new— her old feelings were back, stronger than ever. But now they had a murderous vampire to contend with, along with a bloodthirsty Ministry. Now was not the time for her feelings for Draco Malfoy to get in the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really hard to believe that we've come so far in this story already! As always, I appreciate everyone for hanging out and following along. I swear one day I'll get my life together and I'll answer these amazing, thoughtful, wonderful, make-me-grin comments, but until then please know that I really do thank you from the bottom of my heart for every single one. You all make me smile so much and I can't thank you enough for your time and your thoughts <3
> 
> My love and unending gratitude still for mcal and Lunamionny for their time and valuable insights and hard work on this fic. They're truly wonderful friends, and if you haven't checked out their author pages yet, give their stuff a read - they're brilliant!


	14. If Only For Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, mcal and Lunamionny are amazeballs and kicked this chapter back to me so quickly, that there isn't enough thanks in the galaxy for me to smash them with. They're the reason this chapter exists. <3

_ So if you lay here with me now  
I promise the stars, they won't make a sound  
If you stay, just for a while  
'Cause we know the world won't ever slow down  
If only for now, right now, if only for now  
**_If Only For Now, Pop Evil_ ** _

  


**VAMPIRE RAMPAGE IN NOTTINGHAM, MORE THAN A DOZEN KILLED**

__

The headline glared at him; a mocking, cruel, angry screech from the pages of  _ The Daily Prophet _ . Almost as if the Wizengamot had decided on the exact wording themselves, just to fuck with him, because how could anyone argue against their damn Vampire Bill now that there was a murder headline? Harry slammed his coffee down onto the moving photograph of muggles running around in panic—a photo clearly taken from a muggle movie—and raked his hands through his chaotic hair.

__

“Fuck.” He knocked a scone from the table and watched as it crashed into the wall and dropped to the floor in chunks and crumbs. “She just made everything we’ve done for the legislation count for toffee. Fucking  _ bollocks _ !”

__

His fist collided with the table and the coffee mug jumped and clanked, nearly tipping over. It was Theo who saved it, wrapping Harry’s ‘ _ I vanquished The Dark Lord and all I got was this stupid mug _ ’ mug in his hands carefully and setting it down on the countertop behind him.

__

“It’s a minor setback,” Theo said, far too chipper for Harry’s liking. Even when he looked up to glare at his boyfriend, Theo didn’t appear at all fussed by the angry green eyes that pinned him to the spot.

__

“A ‘minor setback’,” Harry repeated mockingly, smoothing his hand over the newspaper and glaring down at it again. “This is bullshit.”

__

“It’s true, though.” Theo yanked a chair out from the table and flipped it so he could sit and rest his arms against the back of it. “There was a rampage in Nottinghamshire, a dozen muggles were killed, a vampire did it.” He rested his hand over Harry’s and tapped his thumb against his skin. “I love you, Wonder Boy, but, er…it’s pretty on the nose, this.”

__

“That’s hardly the point, Theo,” Harry sighed and shoved the paper away. “The Ministry is purposefully distorting the story to create hysteria so that their bill can pass without a fight.”

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“I don’t know why this surprises you.” Hermione’s prim and steady voice chimed in before she rounded the corner. Her face was framed with a huge mess of curls and frizz, her hair was easily double the volume it’d ever been since Harry had known her, and her eyes were outlined by a faint purple hue. “This is exactly what the Ministry has done since the early nineties.”

__

“Right, so it’s almost as if we haven’t made any difference at all,” Harry grumbled, rising from the table and fixing Hermione a cup of tea. “You look awful, by the way.”

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“You’re the sweetest.” She leveled Harry with a glare as he handed her a perfect brew. “For your information, I was up trying to plan our next move while  _ other people _ were busy trying to make sure the entire cottage couldn’t sleep.”

__

Heat crawled up Harry’s neck and pooled at his cheeks. He snuck a glance over to Theo, who wore a ridiculous grin on his face and aimed a cheeky wink at Hermione. Harry groaned and sank back into his chair next to Theo.

__

“There was a more-than-willing vampire a few rooms down from you, Golden Girl.” Theo plucked a scone crumb from the table and popped it in his mouth. “If you’re jealous of what Potter and I get up to, Draco would be more than willing to take care of that for you.”

__

“That’s not at all—” Hermione was flustered, waving a hand vaguely at the side of her head. “Don’t go there, Theo. We have more important things to worry about than a good shagging.”

__

“It was more than good.”

__

Harry kicked Theo under the table. “She’s going to hex you, you know.”

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“Yeah, yeah, we’re all afraid of big bad, sexually frustrated Hermione Granger.” Theo leaned back in his chair and knocked his bare foot against Harry’s. “She’s the real threat in all this. Perhaps we should just send her after Desdemona and let the women fight.”

__

Harry choked on his coffee and swiped droplets from the corner of his mouth. “You can’t be serious! We’re not sending her in  _ again _ . No bloody way, Theo, you’re mad!”

__

Whatever Theo had been about to say was cut off by the sound of a beak tapping against the window. Hermione beat Harry to it, allowing the owl in and affectionately rubbing the top of its head as she extracted a small scroll from its leg.

__

“From Charlie,” she muttered as the owl pecked at her finger. “The Wizengamot is holding an emergency summit regarding Desdemona and her coven.” Hermione’s eyes scanned the scroll at a rapid pace as Harry fed the little brown owl a treat from their stores. “He says all the Heads of House will be summoned tomorrow—crikey, Harry, they’re planning a raid on every known vampire in the country!”

__

Another owl arrived as Hermione finished reading Charlie’s missive, and Harry gestured for it to land on his shoulder. The big white owl nipped at his ear and stuck out its leg. Another warning, short and sweet, stared back at him after he’d unfurled the parchment. “From Pansy—Hogsmeade quarantined, Sanguini gone.”

__

“Oh fu—” A massive eagle owl swooped in through the open window and nearly collided with Theo’s face. It shook its leg in front of him and screeched. “Alright, alright. Merlin. Shit, I have to be at the Ministry tomorrow morning.”

__

“What is it?” Harry leaned over and read the note. “Mister Theodore Nott, we require your presence in the Ministry of Magic… Chamber Four…They’re holding the vote tomorrow morning. We’re out of time.”

__

“They can’t possibly!” Hermione jumped forward and ripped the missive from Theo’s hands. Her eyes scanned it impossibly fast. “Have they even brought Desdemona in for questioning? Have they afforded her any due process? They’re punishing all vampires for her actions!”

__

“They can’t do that, can they?” Harry felt sickly, a roil of something unpleasant in his stomach as he watched concern and anger flicker across his best friend’s face. “Surely they have to deal with Desdemona first.”

__

“Have you received anything from Robards?” Hermione asked as she withdrew her wand and non-verbally summoned parchment and quills. “We need to know what he knows.”

__

“It’s not as if he’s been forthcoming with his information in the past,” Theo reminded her darkly. He stood from the table and leaned over to place a quick kiss on Harry’s cheek. “I’m going to wake Draco—he needs to know they’re assembling the Heads of House. Don’t do anything stupid, Potter.”

__

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and watched Theo saunter out of the room. He turned to Hermione, and watched her brow lift pointedly.

__

She crossed her arms over her chest and that familiar tone of admonishment fell from her lips. “Don’t say—”

__

“We have to go before the Wizengamot votes,” he said quickly, before she could stop him. “ _ I _ have to go. It’s what she wants, right? That’s why she turned Dudley.”

__

“No.” It was an order, and one that raised the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck. Hermione stood toe to toe with him and flared up at him. “We need to owl Robards first, find out what he knows and what the DMLE is planning. And we need to get the Order together tonight. We’ll make a plan. We can’t just dash off, Harry. It’s not safe and could make things worse.”

__

“Hermione…” Harry ran his hands over his face, tired and ready for all of it to be over. Desdemona wanted him for whatever reason; it had been clear from the night that Dudley showed up on his doorstep. She was playing a game, and she wanted Harry involved somehow. They’d never win the game if they didn’t know what she was playing at. But, instead of saying any of that to Hermione, he merely nodded his head and sighed. “Fine, fine. We’ll call a meeting and I’ll send an owl to Robards.”

__

Whether Hermione believed him or not, Harry wasn’t sure. She continued to stare at him for another long moment, as if trying to decipher a complicated code, and then sat down at the table with her parchment and quill. He watched her scribble for a few moments and then, when he was sure she was entirely distracted, he slowly edged out of the kitchen.

__

Hermione always wanted to do the right thing, but this was different. It was always different when it came to him. If there was any way of resolving the issue with Desdemona quietly and without the Ministry, they had to give it a go. If Hermione wouldn’t agree, he’d make sure that the Order would.

__

__

* * *

__

  
  


__

It had taken Harry to practically shove her out of the door for Hermione to agree to meet Draco before their Order meeting. They were in the middle of a tornado of vampire issues, not least of which was one involving her  _ actual  _ date being swept up and executed at the hands of the Ministry. But they were at a standstill, and as Harry had rightly said, she might as well enjoy what little time she might have left with Draco and… whatever this was between them.

__

She didn’t feel good about going out, and it must have shown on her face as she gazed out the pub window and into the night life passing them by.

__

“There’s nothing we can do, Granger.” Draco’s smooth voice was a melodic beat in the midst of the loud pub. “The Order isn’t meeting for another few hours, and the Wizengamot isn’t meeting until the morning.”

__

“Waiting is the worst,” she explained as she reached for her red wine. “It was the worst when we were on the run from Voldemort, and it’s the worst now.”

__

“What you need is a distraction,” Draco said, lips turning up slightly at the corners. “While you were on the run from The Dark Lord, we were distracting ourselves. Slytherins are masters at distraction—watch.” In one fluid movement, Draco stood from his side of the booth and sat down next to her. He popped his arm behind her shoulders and leaned down to whisper in her ear as she glanced out the window again. “Stop looking out the window as if Desdemona’s going to run by. Look at me.”

__

Her breath stuttered as she dragged her eyes to his. “Sorry,” she said heavily, and then forced a smile onto her lips. “I just feel like something big is coming.”

__

“Maybe it is.” He pushed a long curl behind her ear and traced his finger down the side of her throat. He must have felt the goosebumps that broke out in its wake, because his eyes darkened considerably as they held her stare. “There’s no stopping it. May as well enjoy the time we have, hm?”

__

Blood thundered in her ears and she swallowed around a thick knot. “R-right.”

__

“Good.”

__

Draco lowered his lips gently to Hermione’s and lingered long enough for her eyes to flutter closed. His fingertips ghosted over her throat and his sharp teeth scraped against her lip—not enough to draw blood, but enough that she knew he was aroused by her.

__

His nose ran the length of her cheekbone to her ear, where he whispered:“You—smell—delicious.”

__

A shiver ran up her spine and heat pooled in her belly. She’d forgotten how quickly Draco could have her thoughts tangled up, how simple it seemed for him to turn her on. A touch, a whisper, the gentlest kiss against her skin, and Hermione was spiraling and in desperate want of him. She crossed her legs under the table and slid her moist palms against the soft fabric of her dress.

__

“Your heart is racing,” he said as if she couldn’t feel the pace of it slamming against her sternum. “If you don’t take a deep breath, you’re going to faint.”

__

Easy for him to say, the attractive git. Still, Hermione stole a deep breath through her nose and blew it steadily out of her pursed lips. “You must think you’re clever, using your enhanced senses to know whether or not I’m turned on by you.” She turned towards him and placed a hand on his thigh. “Imagine having to ascertain my feelings like a regular wizard.”

__

“Oh, witch.” The breathy chuckle that followed sent another jolt through her. “Even before I was turned, I knew you wanted me.” She narrowed her eyes and his lips split into a fang-bearing smile. “Don’t think for a second that I didn’t want you, too.”

__

Something about the admission obliterated her ability to think clearly. Of course she  _ knew _ he’d wanted her; their last entanglement before he was turned had been up against the door of her flat while he entwined his hands in her hair and pressed his erection against her thigh. Still, hearing it out loud, feeling his body pressed so close to her, feeling his lips flutter against her skin as he spoke, sent her pulse soaring.

__

“Tell me then,” she said, sliding her hand from his knee to his hip. “Tell me all about how you’ve wanted me.”

__

He stood so quickly, Hermione nearly strained her neck trying to follow the movement. “Follow me.” And then he was off to the waiter, paying their bill , leaving Hermione to scoop up her coat and handbag and wait patiently for him to return to her. “Let’s go.”

__

“Where are we going?” She followed him to the exit even though he didn’t answer. He grabbed her hand, cold fingers lacing through hers, and yanked her through the door. “Draco, where—”

__

He turned a sharp corner with her on his heels, stepping quickly to keep up with his ridiculous long-legged pace. Before she could open her mouth to ask him again, Draco had her pushed up against the rough brick wall of a dark alley with his hands on her hips and his lips attached to hers. Hermione was lost to the feel of him, so easily falling into the excitement of his touch and the eagerness that zipped through her. She lifted her hands to his shoulders and wrapped them around his neck, burying her hands into his silky fine hair.

__

Draco’s sharp teeth nipped at her lip, blood started pooling but was licked away immediately by a swipe of his tongue. “Let me tell you exactly how I’ve wanted you,” he growled in the back of his throat, then groaned as he drew her blood into his mouth, suckling on her lower lip between his words. “Merlin, you taste so good.”

__

“Draco.” His name fell off her lips, an exaltation as his fingers climbed the ladder of her ribs, over her breasts, and to her throat.

__

His eyes were black pools of glittering onyx and her bright red blood was smeared across his lips. “I’ve thought about having you like this, against any surface I can.” Draco nuzzled her neck. “I’ve wanted you on top of me, underneath me, beside me, on your knees, straddling my face so I can taste you.”

__

Hermione sucked in a breath and blushed at his candor. It was the second time she’d kissed him with her blood on his lips, but it was the first time she’d tasted it. Salty and metallic, not as potent as she’d thought it would be. And it seemed to drive Draco wild—his lips slanted over hers and his tongue plundered her mouth, little growls vibrated against her lips as he pushed her firmly against the wall.

__

Draco’s hands were everywhere as Hermione toyed with the hem of his shirt, her fingers skimming the cold skin where his trousers met his waist. She couldn’t breathe and she didn’t care; she’d pass out enthusiastically if it meant that he never stopped touching her. As if he could hear her thoughts, his hands traveled down to the back of her thighs and he hoisted her up so that she could hitch her legs around his hips. There was no mistaking the effect she had on him—it was big and hard and pressed against her core. Every movement he made stroked the fire that burned in her belly.

__

Hermione moved her hands through his hair and then held tight as his mouth left her lips to blaze a trail of kisses down her jaw and over the throbbing pulse of her neck. He licked and nipped at her skin—not hard enough to bite—and pulled away from her as all the air left her lungs.

__

There was a sudden shift in his energy; his muscles seemed to tense, as if on guard. He reached out stiffly and trailed a finger down her cheek, passing over the sharp line of her jaw, and down to where his lips had been only moments before. “If we don’t stop, I’m going to sink my teeth into your neck,” he whispered, circling his finger over her jumping pulse. “I haven’t kept up on feeding—and you taste  _ divine _ .” Draco met her gaze, his lust-blown eyes tight at the corners. “I’m going to set you down, and I want you to apparate away from me immediately.”

__

“Draco, no.” Bringing her hand to his cheek, Hermione forced his eyes to stay trained on hers. “I’m not going anywhere.” She extended her neck, giving him full access to her throat. “Do it.”

__

Draco moved his hand to the base of her skull and wound his fingers into her curls, tugging on them gently and forcing her head to tilt further to the side. Hermione watched as indistinct figures passed by the alley, but were none the wiser to the vampire and the witch that hid in its shadows.

__

Draco ran his fangs gently over her heated skin before sinking them into the softness of her neck,uttering a hoarse, “Finally” as he did so.

__

Gasping as the pain of his bite jolted something primal inside of her, Hermione bucked against him. The noise that ripped from his lips would have made her orgasm immediately...if it weren’t for the sudden appearance of a soaring eagle patronus in her peripheral vision. Shoving her hand against Draco’s shoulder, Hermione leaned away as the eagle approached. Theo’s deep voice echoed through the alleyway and shattered the moment as if a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped over her.

__

“Time’s up,” it said in a haunting, melodic tone, “The Order is arriving and Potter’s on a rampage. Get back to HQ before I stun them all.”

__

Draco’s body shook against her. “Go,” he uttered quietly, eyes watching the eagle as it slowly faded from sight. “Go now before I decide not to let you.”

__

The strain on his face, the tightness in his voice, brokered no room for argument. Hermione extricated herself from his hold and slid down the wall, stepping out of his reach as she drew her wand. Her voice quaked as her free hand moved to find the puncture marks he’d left on her neck. Something cold seeped into her belly, extinguishing the fire that had been burning all night. “Are you coming with me?”

__

“I’ll follow.” He turned from her and she watched his shoulders lift and fall as if he were breathing—though she knew he could never, would never, breathe again. “Go now.  _ Please _ .”

__

So she did, apparating on the spot and leaving Draco behind. 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hnnnghhhh, I've been dying to write this scene for ages now and I'm so excited to share it! Thank you so much for your patience as I worked through muse issues and struggling to find time to write. There's a lot going on in the world today, and I truly hope that you're all safe and sound <3


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